


Pendulum

by golfdadscoups



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golfdadscoups/pseuds/golfdadscoups
Summary: When long panels of glass reflect the orange hum of the setting sun over green foliage, Seungcheol wonders if he's stuck in some kind of painful loop or if this is just a bad dream.





	Pendulum

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: The following work of fiction depicts a toxic and unhealthy relationship. 
> 
> sorry in advance. doyoons a nice guy and jeonghans and seungcheols parents are nice people too. godspeed.

 

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~

 

“I own you, Seungcheol.”

 

Seungcheol closes his eyes, hands taut and uncomfortable in the bondage of Jeonghans belt, yielding.

 

“Tell me how you’d kill me, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol asks quietly.

 

Jeonghan laughs softly in response before cocking his head thoughtfully.

 

First, I’d tie you up. See you squirm, watch you, touch you.” He breathes out.

 

“Then start small.” Jeonghan runs a faint hand down Seungcheols cheek, letting two fingers slip into the corner of his mouth. “Count the fingers on your hands, on your feet, make a little incision on your tongue.”

 

Jeonghans fingers find Seungcheols tongue, pushing it down to make him gag.

 

“Squeeze out your blood until it was running down your neck.” He roughly drags his nails across Seungcheols Adams apple, eliciting a moan from him.

 

“Then, I’d douse you in gasoline. The good kind. Grade A diesel. Watch you inhale that poison, kiss you softly…” and Jeonghan does, leaving fluttering peck on the corner of Seungcheols half open lips. “Light two of your favorite cigars, one for me, one for you. And then set you on fire before you could take a puff.”

 

Seungcheol moans as Jeonghan leans down to bit his neck.

 

“I’d do it on our anniversary. Stick a knife in your neck too, if I was feeling mean that day.”

  
Ĭ̠̬̘̖͓̤͙̜̠̜̥̰̇ͭ̋ͣ̂̿̂̿̌̿̀̚͟͟͝͡͡ͅͅf̷̙͍̜̙̠̲̪̮̖̥̞̬̮̘̙͍̹͂̏͐ͧ͒̅͛̅ͣ̚̕ͅ ̈́̐̇̎̈́̈́̚͏̶̵̦̣̗̻͞͝ş̎̇̃ͧ͗ͤ̒͋͂̍̚҉̡̣̗͚̹̺̹̫̦̹̼̪̮̰̜o̸̡̡̦͈͙͎̣̖͈̫̹̝̰̱̪͖̦͇̘̐̐ͨͧ̾́͐̄ͣͣ͊̊ͦ͛͊͐͟͞ͅm͇̮̙̘̫̤͔̲̰̺̣͇͉̰͛̃̋͌ͭͥ̔̑͋̄ͮ̆͡͠͠͠ȩ͒̈́ͤ̚͏̨̠̻̺̞͍̟͕̝̻̹͎̲̪̙̞̳̕ͅͅb̷̷̩͖̝̱̻̤͔̮͔͇̻̥̙̏̍ͬ̀ͬ̾ͧ̎͂ͯ̀͞óͮͫͣ͏̧̭̼̲̥͍̱̻͓͈̲̯͉̟̦̰̼̘̺̞͢d͑̈̎̃̾ͮ͒͋̚̚҉̴͇̺̘͉͇̝̥̕̕yͤͥ̏ͭ͌͗ͩ͆͑ͤ̋̑͒̑ͫ͏̵̸̳̬͙̠̖̟͍̞͖̳̮͞ ̵̘̯͙̦͇̩͎̙̱̬̲͖̘͎̰ͬͪͪͤͪ̓̎ͭ̕͡ș̶̶̷̶̵̻͈̠̯̲̙̝̝̗͇̟̻̟̻̤ͨ̓̂ͅằͫͤͫ̆̈̌̀͗ͯͭ̆͏̠̪͇̯̪̬̘̩̞̯͔̜̤̭ͅy̫͔̫͙͍̟̦̱̲̦̖͓̽̑ͭ͌̂ͨ͗̐͞͝͞s̶̢̛̛̯͚͉̲̲̙̠̤̪̝̺̭̙͛̅͐͌̎̿̎͌ͯ̿͛̎̍̃̔̊́̃ ͆͊͆ͣͯ́́ͬ̊̈͏̵̡̤͖͎̰͠'̷̩͙̰̜͇͚̬̞̰͚̊̽ͪ́ͯͥ͌̚͞I̭͎͈̙͖̞̬̙̞̹̼̘̜̠̼̘ͬ̇̒͒͂̾̓̿̃́͗̎́ͮͯ̄͐̊͢͡ ̸̡͔͚͍͕̩͇͎̥̫͉̬̆̂͊̈̈́̽͗͂̄͋ͣl̪̪̻̬̗̰͇̹̲̲̺͔̇̅ͨ͑̔̂͒ͤ̆ͨͯ̓̎̊͑̈́̚͠ó̶͚͕̝̤̅̓̋̾̾͂́ͯͬ͋̅̓̔̿̃͊̃͜ͅv̸̷̛͎̬̟͔̞͉̲̱̬̬͖ͤ̌͗ͧ̔ͩ͒͛̆ͅe̛̹̝̤̱̞̜͕̘͇̝͖͈̿̆ͯͪ̍̿̍ͧ͞ ̵̢̹̯͓̯̼̟̭̥͔̮͎̰͊͛̇̇͂ͮ̂ͭͫ͝ẙ̧̲̖̜̥͔̝̤͍̞͚̝̭̪̦͇̘̖̤̺͂̑̎̋͗́̊ͫ͗͋ͩ̆̏ͫ͌͟͠͝͠o͍̺͍̫̩͈͎͙̬̪̥̱̺ͧ̾ͥͯ͐͗ͨͧͪ̀ͫ̍̓͗ͯ̅́́̚̕͡͠͝ͅu͛̂̅̀̿͑̍̏̋̋̊ͯ̊̈̑͢҉̨̥̹̩̥̗̻̙̖̖͍̰͇̘͖͚̹͠'̨͖̼͔͚̪̯̪̖̻̃̆̌ͭ̆͒͛̑̆̔ͭ̆ͯ͌̕ ͗ͪ̀͆̽͘҉̶̢̼͈̤̺̹͉̰̩̮̦̩̝̩̬̲̩̣͚͡ͅt̷̸̜̖̤̱̬̱͕̘̩̯̠̰̺̀̎̏͋o͐̈͌̄̉ͭ҉̩͖͙͔̻̱̗͟ ̡̻͉̹̫̤̖͈̈̉̄̓ͩ͛̊̽̕͘m̢̲̼̝̗͎͙̲̱͖̬̪̗̮̮̙͌̂ͦ͋̑͗̔̽͊ͫ͘e̎̈́̓̀͌̂̿͆҉̱͍̣̺̖̘̰̜̯͇̲̱̼̳̪͕̬͘̕ͅͅ,̵̂͋͋̀ͣ̏ͬ̔̃ͨ͒ͧ͐͘҉͓͇̹͎̙ ̈ͩ̂̿ͧ̈́ͫ̈́ͩͧ͌ͧͩ̀̚͘͡҉̖̬̘̱̩̘̗͔̻̣̪̻̟̣͎̥ͅI̢̧̒̿̌̏ͫͣͫͮ̿̄͆͗̕͏̤͎̖̣͍̮̲̖͖͍͍̭̮͕̞̖̳ ̴̛̲̘̰͍̦͎ͤͪ͗̽̀͋̈̍͒ͤ̇ͧ̓͡f̸̧̹͓̮̜̦̲̯̮̥̪̥̙̜̺̔̀͂̌ͦͩ̍ͦ̐ͣ͛̀̕͠e̵̵̲͇͚͈̲̭̥̣͕͈͎̫̼̫̥̠͖̽͐́́͗ͩͥͦ͘͜͠è̴̛̼͓̘̖̰̭̤̹̣̣̒ͥͪ̂̓ͭ̀̊̃͂͐ͭ͊͟ͅl̡̢̙͎͇͖̪̼̳̻̱ͮͨͤ̈̂̒̚ ̶̸̷̡̝̟͙̭̟̂̈ͮ̍̋̍ͫ̍̈͆̓͑̾ͤ̏͗͝ą̶̼͍̦̟̘̼̼̖͉͙͐̇̃̈̓̍̎͘s̷̨̲̫̱̞͆ͭ͋́ͦ͟ ̸̷̦̹͉̹͕͎̮̫̐̔̓́ͦ̕̕͠t̵̷̨̛̲̹̻͉ͣͦͯͨ̐̎ͣ̌̆̾́̎̓̀̈̀͐͞ȟ̵̛͎̥̳͙̉̋͟͠ơ̴͔͍̞͇̗͒̌͌̊͆̅̊ͅu̶͈̱̜͖̫̳̰͈͓̤̪̦̹̻̫͇ͭ̏ͧ͐͐͂ͨ̄̅͡ͅğ̡̧̱̭͇̺ͩ̉̆̌ͥ̐͒̾̇ͩ̏̈́͛̚͢͡h̨̙͕̞̙̰̜ͩ͌̾͛̓̐͋̓ͬ̆̄̒̽͋̄̂ͩ͂͠ ̵̤̰̰͍̹̥͖̗͙͎̝̩ͭ̐̈́ͮ͒ͪͪ̈̕͜I̧̛̩̠̭͎̙̗̻̙̬̘͑̏͑̓̑̊͡ͅͅͅ’̪̘̩̟̺̜͖̙͔̻̟̙̲͎͖̯̠̇͒ͪ̒͆̐ͥ͆͗̋̀ͬ̈̽ͮ͛̋͗͡v̍ͥ̃̒̎̊҉̛̯̦̰̯̞̯̬̞͚̺͍̘̥̟̻̟̗̣̹̕̕̕e̹̬͚͇̱ͩ̽̐ͫͭ͊ͨ̾͛ͨ̾͛ͥ̃̔͐̓ͧ͝ ̶̤̫͓͔̤̹̙͙̠̘̲͇͚̙̈̊͒͐͌ͩͦ͗ͪ̽͒̇̉͒̍̽̑h̐͛ͯ̓͏̯̭̦̥͔̣̱̱̞̫͎͚̱̖͓̩ͅͅͅa̶̡̒͊͑ͨ͐̂ͤͬͩ̋̅̎͑̈̏̑̍҉͍̜͕̟͈͇̫͍͖̼̜̙̤̝̣̰̰̟d̢͉̞̺̹͈̩͇̫̃̉̑̉̔̓͞ ͫ̄̅͑̃͏҉̴̨͙͎̰̲̪̞̜̰̹͕̠̱̤̺ȁ͉̬̮̞͈̼͇̥͚̪̟̉̑ͨ̂ͩͬ̒̍̎͐̓̕̕ͅ ̷̛̼̠̲̖̩̰̥̠̝̰̝̯̪̜̯̖ͩ̍̎̔̊̉̏̓̏ͨͦ͒̀̓͆p̶̝̗͈͈̞̫̦͎̹͖ͣͤͬ̌͗ͫ̀̎̍̓̒͋͛ͤ̒̑̌̚̕͢͞i̶̸̼̦̮̙̻̫̖̇ͤ̅̍͆͆̾̕͞s̢̺̮̜̖͉͚̪͚̻͉̥͊ͣ̏̾ͥ̃͐̃̓̿̋͛̄̆̕t̵̠̲̤̮̝͈͓̳̯̠͖̝͈̖̬̑ͭ͋ͬ́͌͂ͤͪ̂̌͒̃̈́̈́ͨͤ̒͜͞o̎̌ͨ̒͐̒͆҉͏͓̠͓̬̪͖͇̯̪̬̳̟͍̯͓͞l̷̤̺͕̩̭̱̰̤̺̤̼̱͎̞͌ͪ͑͂́̊̓̃͑ͪ̓ͬͪ̐̂̕͢ͅ ͋ͦ̑̈ͦ͊ͬ̒̚҉͏͔͇͉͕͚͙̤͕̻̳̳͚͈̭̪̱͔̯p̧̊̌̒ͯ҉̗̼̱͍̮͠ͅò̴̶̺̮͍̞̹̤̲̆͗ͮ̈́̇͒͆̉͒̈́̆ͪ͒̅̕͢͠i̸̦̟͔̺̖̜͓̯̮̬͚͙͎̝̹̓̐͂ͤ̄̃ͮ̅͛̏ͫ̒̃͘ṋ̛̠͔̻͕̳̣͉̘̐̇͂͒̅ͩt̵̫̮̥̜̭͕̥͙̖̤̦̣̪̏͌͛̐ͮͧ̿̍ͧ̆̈̐̆̔ͣ̐̏̚͢e̛̻̥̥͓̮ͭ̑͌̒͒͊͋̃ͨ̀͆̈́̓̈́̾ͮ̚̚͘͢͡͠d͊ͭ͂̊̅̒̾̑͑̆͊ͦ̔̍͐̇҉̡̨͏̥̺̞͇̫̲ ̮͉͇̟̰̘̣͉͕̯̘͗̾̐ͮͦͣ̋͛̑̀ͣͪ̄̀̏͟a̶ͯ̀ͬͧ̆ͬ̈̄ͪ̓̇҉͖͇̣̟̩̥̳͈͔͟ͅț̨̢̗͖̲̥̙̽͒̒̈̿͊ͨ̋̂̐ͭͭ̃̕͜ ̾ͦ̊̍̎ͧ̉ͬͤ̈҉҉̡̻̥̤̹̗̖m̶̙̼̭͈̝͐͛ͩ̐̇͌ͨ̃̓̔͗͛ͫͯͭ̀̌͞y̸̴͍̪̘̬͖͎̰̹͕̥̜͈̬͖̖̭͋͌̓͝ ̢̛̭̘̟̬̘̦̤̣̤̼̟͖̘̼̉͗̏͗͌͋̋̈̇̇̑ͯ̃ͅh̵̡̳̞͇͚͓͇͇̘̳̭̪̦̖͖̯͎́̿͗ͯͧ̆̍̌ͯ̓̎̑̚͡͝ͅͅe̪̼̤̪̮͔͓͕̱̬̪̠͖ͪͭ̓̀͋͘͡͠a̛̱͚̰̣͓̫̣̪̾̀͛̄͌͐̂ͫͪͤ͋̋ͦ͂ͥ͒ͯ͊͜ḑ̧̏̉ͧ̇̐͐̅ͫ̌͞͏̸̜̖͍̤͍.̈́̇͌̃͛̚͏̶̺͓̺̱̜̕͝͝ ̔͒̔ͦ̀ͫ͂̓̋͊̚̚͏͙̬̩͓͉̟͕͝B̵̜͎̦̞̘̜̼͑̎͒̀̓ͦ̈́ͬ͑ͨ͒͋̉́̚ͅũ̸̡̢͉̰̱̖͍̳͇̤̫̬̞̓̏͂t̵̲̼̘͍͗ͮ̆̌͗͠ͅ ̸̴͉̯̻̪̘̣̖͕̙̦͈̼̻̲̹̯̱́̓̋͋͐̿̉͒̉ͬ̄̎̌̍͒̀̈̾̚͘I̴͋ͦ͒ͯ͢͡͠҉͖͎̪͖̘̯̱̮ ̛̩̯̺̺̿̑̎͋͋͂ͯ̑̈́͊̊͆͆ͫ͛ͬ̓͌ͯp̳̙̲̺̬ͫ̒̉̋ͪ̽ͧͯ͑̈͜͡͠ų̢̪͚̥̦̬̿̿ͩ̇ͯ͜͠͝l̍́̾ͥͥ̄ͬͮ̋͆̅͐ͧ̿̚͏̷̙͙͓͓̹̼̯̤̬̲̖̠͔̥̣̣̮l̨̪͙͚̟̬̖̞̣͇͔̈̓ͦ̓̉̽͘͜ͅͅ ̴̲͕̱̜̺͕̘̹͗̈̒̄̋̒̿̌͌̈̆͝͝t̵̗͙͉͉̟͉͕̬̓̅͐ͪ̒̉̉̑ͮ́ͧ̒͐̔̈̇̅̚͞͞h̵́̈̈́ͭ҉̬̹̭̪͜e̵̮̘̹̺̟̜̼̲̱͇̩̞̯̫̜̔̈́ͪ̑͑̓ͫ̄̋̔ͨ̉̂̄ͯͫͦ̊͟ͅ ̣̦͕̳̤͕̣̤͖͒̏̈̅ͥ̕͞ͅẗ̴̶̸̳̹̹̭̙͙̟̩̦͇͎͖̦̠͓̼̣̂̈̾ͬ́̽͡r̎̇̉ͪ̏ͦ̈̓͐ͥ҉̨͙͍̣̭i̷̵͛̊́͆҉̗̱̗̟͚̰̪̩̥̘̱̦̘͘͞ģ̴̞̭̞̝̪̟͚̺͚̱̰̮͎ͭͦͫ͢͠͝ͅͅg̴͎͙̤̲͋̿ͧͧ̈ͩ̓͛ͧͮ͜͡e̢̖͓͙̜̋̾̐͗ͥ͆ͫ̎̍ͦ͌͛̽ͮ̚r̴̷̡̭̖̻̲͖̞͙̩̥͕̜͉̹͖̝͋̓̍̂̾ͧ̐͊̂̀̎̒̽͊̔͛̚̚͞͞ ̸͙̥̯̥̬̙̫̲̭̱̞̱̂͒́̄ͭͩ̈̍́ͧ́̿ͨͯ͌̍͝ͅṃ̢̻̺̤͎̝̹͙͕̻̭͌ͨ̑ͬ̋ͨ͐̑͐ͫͭ͂ͮ̈̅̈͘͟y̷͉̥̼͓̹͉̺̱ͩ̋̔ͯ͌ͦ̎̐ͣ͌ͫͪͥ͒ͧͧ̆ͦ͟ͅs̢̧͗ͬ̍̅͊ͯ̒̕͡҉͖̝͚̬͇͚̺̬͈̖̫̠̼̝e̙̙̻̠̝̜̣͇͕̗͓͇̤̗ͥ̽͊ͮ͆̊͋͟͝l̜̱̘̳͇͔̃͊́͊̒ͦ͗̋͑̏̋̉͋͑ͣ͜f̖̩̝͕̙͔̯̱̱͈͖̤̞̒͂ͥ̋͡.̷̺͔͉̭̗̤͇͆̊̾̉̒̔ ̶͔͈͚͚̮͔̣̮̪̮͍̮̦ͣ͗̔͛͌ͫͭ̂̇͘T͖̬̳̱͇̠͈̲̬̫̼̬̺ͦ̈̑̈́͟h̛̤͙̭͙͒ͤ̈́͒͋͌͗̌̄͂͘͢͟e̴̅ͬ̑͊̀ͨ̇̆̊͆͏͎̘̥̝͓ ̧͚͍͚͎̮͉̫̪͍͕̠͕ͤ̏ͯͣͦ̽ͥͫͥ͘͜͞f̩̗̻̻̫̠͉̥̭͇̰̙̯̳͕̰̪̽̋̒̋̈̌͛͌͗̉̐͗͗͆ͬ̔̚̕u̸ͪͮ̎̔͑̂̈͗ͩͣͣͦ̚҉̟͖̙̜̰̪͍̜̼̘̟̖̠̲͔̠̹̕͟r̸̨̨̼̥̰͍͉̘͊̑̈́͆̌̓̆̔͛̀͗ͩͥ̊̉͒̆͆̄͠y̛͍͖͉̬̌͗̄̓ͪͮ͒ͤ̌̒͗͌͜͢͝ ͑̃͑ͩ̊̎̾ͬͧ͆ͩ̚͞҉̳̲̼̱̫̟̩͔͙̠̼͞ͅo͂̄͑̏̃ͥ̂̾ͤ̆̐̀̌̚͠͏̷̷͉̖͎̼̦̯͍̯̥͟f̡̢̲̙̣̗͕̩̳̺̙ͥ̄͊́ͤ̏ͦ̃̃́̌̏̕ ̣̳̭͚̹̭̣̙̬̜͖͖̙̟̹͚̦̰̩ͨͣͥ̀̔̀ͤ̍ͭ̾̿̂̓̅̈́̽ͣ͢͠ā̸̳͓̰̠̮̳̲̥̫̖̔̄̓͜͟ ̭̗̜̮̝͍̤̠̱̬ͨ̂̇̅̐̍̏̽ͥͥ̀͂ͩͫ͐̈ͥ̕ͅd̸̡̨̙͓̼̖͈̘̮̰̒͒͛̎̓̋̍ͥ͗̓͂̿̂̾̆ͪͅe̢̿̀̄̆̔̊̇ͬ͑̏͋̿̇̅̈́̈͟͏̞̖̤̻̭̙m̸ͤͮͩ́͆͌̏ͯ́̇̈̎ͩ͑ͯ̂̊̌ͥ҉͠҉̥̳̳͉͇͙̮̣̰̪̩͍͕͙̠͖̣͍͉ơ̶̖͉͇̪̺̜̠͓͑̽̑͌́͟͡ň̶ͪͪ͐̂̔̕͏̗̖͚̖͉̰̫͓̲̤͇ ̶̴̷̨̯̯͔̥̼̩̩̠͇̝̈́ͧͦ́ͨ̇ͯ̉͞ȋ̴̡̺̦̰͔̓ͦ̉̾̎̌̂̎͂̑͆n̨̡͇̻̭̼̱͕̘̘͙̗̙̦̯̲ͪ̏ͮͧ̾̍͆͂̈̒̅̈́̃́͌̔͆ͮ̕s̶̸̳̫̣̖͎̱̺͙̻ͮͮͬͤͧ̽ͥ͑ͪ̚̚͟͠t̶̝͈͚̙̳̙͖̩̳̼̥͔̗͙̐ͭ͛͛̑ͥͪͬͫͥ͗́̈́ͩ̄ͨ̚͠͝a̴̴̷͚̞̩̫̺͙͕͙̪̟̜̭̘͙ͧ̾̉̐ͭ̑͜͡ͅn̛̐͋͛̄ͣ͆̌͋̾́͒̐̄̄͐͐ͬͣͫ͏̦͚̲͍̙̼̝̞̳̼͎̱͟ͅt̷͓͙̗̮̂ͦ̓͋͘͝ͅl̵̶̸̹̪̱̱̳̹ͫ͗ͤͭ́̀͟y̧̧̡͉̪̫͙̬͌̉̑̄ͦͦ̃ͨ̊̃͢͡ ̘̩̱̟̥̤̫͙͇̜̰̄ͧͯ̐̎̓́ͯ̅ͧ͌ͅͅp͑̑ͧ̽ͬ̉ͤ͏͍͈̭̬͞o̪̞̞͈͓ͤͨ̿ͨͦ͐̂͟͝s̶̟̞̗̬̝͈̱͕̼͓̮̫̄̂ͦ̊̔͗̚͝͠ś̍ͭ͌̾̉ͮ̎̓̒̃̅̆͘͏͖̱͔̻̙͇̯̣̭͓͖e̶̢͖͔͎̪͈̳̼͎͍̹ͬ̑ͪ͛ͫ͢ş̡͎̱̣͓͇̫̮ͪ̅̈́͛̓ͪͤ̐ͦ͊ͣͧͩͮͣ͐ͦ̚ş̶̢̝̻̗̜̘̠̪̟̑ͧ̏̈́ͣ̾̒͂ͯ͝e̸̻̻̱͎̰͕̖̯̼̰͕ͦͧͣ̒̓͛͐̏̋̆ͦ̚͘͢ś̔ͧ̋͌̂͗ͭͨ̓̐҉̰̰̣͚͖ ̲̩̙̜͆̄ͦͪ̊̎̎ͦ̈̉ͥ͛ͭ̂͟͜m̶̵̡̡̘͙͕̻̠̝̑̉͗̆̓ͦ͢ê̵̽ͪ̐͗̌ͭͬ̆̿͒ͥ҉̴̛̯͙̝̦̼̲̺͘.ͨ̃ͤ̽̅͞͏̵͚͖ͅ ͊̑ͬ̓̀͑̾̇̾̽͛͛ͯͪͩ̆͏̰̘̖̳̹̭̤̝͓̭̼̹̮̞̻̘͎͢I̢̠̝̺͂͋̈͆͂ͣ̔̎̄ͣ̆̓͐ͨ̅͜͟ ̵̟̺̬̟͔͙͚̜̫̈̂̀̅̓͛͗ͣ͝k̶̴̶̡̢̬͈̫̘̱̳̜͙̯̯̬̟̜̪͇ͬ̔͆ͩͪ̈̑͛ͯ͛ͬ̾̎̄̈̏ͅn̡̉͑ͯ̅ͣ̈̇͢҉͖͔̠͚̮̻̠͍̝͉̘͍̖̭̰ͅö̢̖͖̙̲̘̪̹̅ͬ̿̍̉͌ͨͥ͐̑ͮ͐͐̉̚͘͘͘͢w̵̨̺̙̟̪͛ͧ͂ͯ̐͐͋ͨͬ͢͠ͅ ̢̜̰̠̠̤͓͇̯͇̺̻͊̋ͮͬ̉ͫͪͫͥͮ͑m̨̾ͦ̓̾ͦ̑̿ͫͪ́̎̾͌͛͏̵͠͏̦̣̩̬͙̬͉͚̙ͅy̴̸̡̲͖͓͈̱ͥ͗̉̈́̌͐ͣ͊ͩ̾͜s̾̓ͣ̽͏̱̠͇͉̞̳̞̙͓͙͎̱̼̩͠ę̗͉͕͔̭̱̌̔ͥͨ̂̾͌̋̌̍ͥl̛ͤ̉̍͗̉ͦͪͭ̄̀̚҉̨̧͚̣̫͙̜̱̭͎̘̣̱͍ͅf̵̨̢̧̢͇͖̭͔̻̩̞̥̟̖̞͖͖͊ͭ̈͌̅̂͒̉̾ ̲̹̪͍̰̘̖ͪͯͯ͊ͮ̍̒̈́͘͜͠͞ͅņ̶̐ͦ̇ͥ̑ͭ͒ͧ̑̌̓̿ͮ̈́̉̽̚҉͎̞͉̝o̷̗̙̤͙̭̬̳̜̘͎̝͇̘̼ͦ̔̀͂̓̾ͤͤ̀̎̚ ̡͖̠̰̘͚̹̹͐ͦ̒̏̃̍͛̓̊̎͊ͥ̇̊̾̚̕͟͜͠ͅl̷̶̙̞͎̤͉̼̺̱̬̠͎̺̈ͤ̒̓ͫͧ̊ͥ͛̑̃̂̈ͨ̈ͭ̎̎o̸͍̦̭̝̙̙̹̼̟̰͍̞̙̘̠̲̠͔ͨ̎̆͐̈́̅͂͌ͮn̳̱̞̲̫͔̙̗͔̮͉͍̭̗̳ͤ̇̎̊̑̓̅̐͌ͩͥ̌̀̏̾̑̄͜͟g̔́̄́ͩͣͥ͌̔͆ͤ͟҉̛̥̝̗̤̳̩͍̰̖͎e̛̾ͫ̒̐̈́ͫͮ̐̀͝҉̳̬͎͇͚͍̳̞̭̬r͉̹̦̻͉̖͙̝̠̫̥̭͚̭̙͖̲̈́̎ͫ̍ͬͭͣ̈͐͑ͩͮ͐͘͞ ̴̷͉̤͉̩̱̞̜͕̩̞̲̳̩̦̬̻͚ͬͣͮͯ͒̽ͦͨͯ̆̽̃͐̈͊ͦͪ̇͊͘͞a̱͕͇̣̞͍̲͙͇̯̠̳̳̜ͤͥ̽̒͐̇̒̂͊̿̕ṉ̰͖̣̼̙̘̘̳̤̻̥͇̌͗̌̐̇̽̋̎͆͌̎̂͐͘͟͜ḍ̶̴̸͚̬̘͈̙̞̝͍̮̹̬͆̄̌́ͩͧͪ̿͋̂̍̄̂̽͘͡ ̵̄̈͗̓ͧ̓̿̄ͬ̉͊̈ͥ҉͉̪͈̝̜̻̹͖m̏̎̑̽ͤͧ̓͗ͬͪ̿̈͒͜͏̗̗͎͇y̛̝͇͓̼̹̲̳̝͎̬̻̺͈̤͓͑ͯͨͯ͑͊̉ͩ͝ͅ ̠̖̤̼̱̬̖͈͙̟̩̔ͥ͑̃ͨͯ̋̍̌̆̽̚͘͟ö͍͕͉̼̮̞̩͇͔͓̫̦̯̼̘́̏͗̅̃ͣ̽͐̉̄ͥ̏̊͂ṛ̸̴̙̤̬͐ͤ̎͛͂ͩ̀ͤͧ̇̆͊ͫ̎̅ͫ͌į̨͈̖̟̫̲̜̭̩̻͍̻̯͎̦̟̞̈́͂ͩ̐͑̎̓̐̚͡ğ̵̞̮̱̭̦̖͋͊͒ͥͦ̏̅͋ͭ̽͂̀ͧ̽̚̚͢͞i̓ͣ́ͯ̓ͯ̾̌ͣ̇̋͋̑̽̉̈͏̨̻͎̤̺̫̼̟̪̼͈͎̪̱̪n̷͙͚͚̯̞͎̰͙͍̲̙̬̥͍̞̞̆̾͆̎̀̈́̉̓ͧ͛a̵̶̡̢̲̹͖͙̠̪̥̠̣̗̩̗̼̹̺͙ͬͭ̈͛̅͋̅͌̽̄̄̍̏̃̒̐̌̄̋l̵̰͔̹͇͓̦͚̪̜ͯ́ͦ̏ͦ ̨͆̑̊̇͑̓̀ͤ̌̇ͥ͗ͥ̚͡҉̶͈̭̝̜̬̬̬̮͕̪̜͎s̶̛̏̄͐ͣ̈́͏͉͈͚͉̖͙̘̻̜̗̮̦o̔ͮ̒̆͋͏̪̗̪̜͇̰̹͇̪̯̠̻͕͖͕͙͕͡ü̶̝̪̰͈͇̟̓̆ͣ͘͞ļ͓̯̯͔̤ͬ̀̌̎ͦ̎̋͊̈̽̉͐̈́ͦ̃̌̋̓̕ͅ ͙̥̜̫̤̙̩͚̱̱͉̻̭͓̦͓ͨ̒͛̓͌̈̋͂̍ͤ͛͝s̴̷̛̥̩̥̙̳̞͉͇̮̣̻͓͚̘̞̙̏̿ͬͪ̉ͨ́̀͒̉ͪͭͦͨ͐̀͂ͅė̸͚̩̣̳̫̲ͤ̿ͥͬ͡ͅe̵̸̮̦̫̺̱͍͖̦͓̭͈̣̠̲̘̙̱̖͙̓ͦ̈́͐̓̂̇͐ͯͩ̿̊̂͛͋̐̽̔͡m̫̬̣͙͎̺͈͍͇͖͔̺̙̮͚̈́̄̿̅͂ͮͪ̉̐ͪͣ̇̽̂͆ͤ̾͘s̷̸̵͓̠̝͇̟̊̋ͧͩ̅ͬͯͥ̂͐͠͡,̴̧̱͚̰̪͖̣͇͍̹̩͔͚͙̻̒̿̃͐̈́ͧ̆͢ ̯̜͙̯̜͈͇̼̣͈̬̘͖̺̔̔͑̌̏ͬ͌̆͒́͆ͮ̌̃̔̆͆ͧ̒͢͞ͅà̧͎͈͖̼͕̥̪͔͚̭̪̙̫̪ͣͩ̅̇̔̊̂ͯ͌ͫ͊̇̊͂ͧ͢͢t̡̖͙̥͍͈ͭͮ̃̐͢͜͜͠ ̛̾ͫ̊̂̓͊̆ͮͨͬ͘҉͔̥̥̘͙̰̗̰̻͔̘õ̶̵̢̦͈̞͚͎͓̼̀̆̈́ͬ͊͐͐͐̓͛̄̔͌̚͢ņ̵̴͈̹̺̼͍̙͙͎̹̪̺̪̗̞̺̪̻͐̄̀͛ͧ̌ͫ̆̆̏̿ͪ̀̚ç̟͖̬̺̤̲͖͓͓̰̫̳͓̗̖͓̪̬̺̍̀͋̏̊ͦ̍ͫ͊̈̉͐͟e̶͇͈̣̗̰͎̒̓̐͋̃ͫͪ̂̚,̛̤̞͇̠͕̣͚̠̲̠̹̜͇̬̙̟̪ͯ́̎̈͆ͦ̉͆ͅͅ ̢̡̧̢̼̯̝̰̯̦̇̅͋ͣ̓̐͂ͪͥ̈͋̐t̵̬͖̝̝̺͖̞̻͈̜̣̻ͬ͊ͭ̏͑͑̂̐̓̃ͩͨ̆̒̚͟ͅo̶̡̢͉̞̣̤̥̞̤̟̥̪̥̰̻ͧͯ͆ͬ̈́̀̈ͩͦ͗͜ ̸̤͍̖̹͚̗̘͉̍͑͌̆ͭ̈͐̔͐̐̕͝t̷̶͓͚̦̹̠̗̰̦̲̗̒̀̔͐̈̀̿̽̿̂̽ͥ̚a̧͕͉͖̜͎̱̠̞̗͔̪ͬ̎̀ͬ̓͐͑͢͠kͩ̒̿͂͞͏̴͓̲̹̗̹̺̼eͨ̽̂҉̛̤̜̫̬̟̭͜ ̵̸͕͍̭̮̜̯̱̗̼̹̦́ͭͧ̐̓ͦ̌ͨ̐̒̓̔̽̽̊́̈͐̐i̛̳̞͎͍̜̮͎̮̜̣̘̹̺ͯͩ͐́ͯ͋ͮ̽̋̎͗͟͡ͅt̸̳̱̮͕͔͖̞͍́̐̆̽͜s̶̨̘̟̜̬̥͈͕͂̄̏̇ͮ͘͞ ̀ͬͪ̾̿̒ͫ̈̂̄͒͏̖̤̺̝̖̜̼̗̕f̧̩̠̬͍͔̝͍̦͍̦̞̰̰̣̖͒ͧ̈́̂̐ͬ̉ͬ͋̍̂ͫ̐̽̚͟l̵͐͗̑͂̌̓̇̈́̆̚̚̚҉͡͏̹͎̳̯̜̪̦̘̗͖͚̦̬i̸̸̹̺̤̺̖͕̱̥͉̗͈͆̿̓̔̑ͧ̏͌͞g̴̳͈̝̪͖̳̙̻̦͉͓͉̰͙̿͗ͯ̿̾͂̓ͦ̓ͣͦ̐͗͛̒̾̅̉̚h̴͍͇̩̩̘̠͈̜̩̪̝̞̤̰̳̱ͧ̾͗̽͋̅̽͂ͣ̅͐ͣͬ̕ṫ͎̗̥̰̳̳ͬ͋̇̾ͬ̌ͩ̏ͪ͜ ̸̢̢̛̫̯̜͍̘̻̩͉̙̙̜̞̗̩̃͂͐͒̊͛͊̐͊̌͆̍f̺̮̖̞̞̯ͣ̒ͣͤ͒̌̚͠͝ṛ͕̺̹̖̮̘̺̲͖͎̙̈͛̃́̽ͯ̽͗̿͋o̸̬͖̱͎͇̼̘͚͙͙̯̠̓̉͋͐͐̀͆̔͜m̸̷̜̰̥̤̝̟̼̪̪͕̼̲̟̦̬̣̲͎̟ͧ̈ͣ͊̍͘̕͠ ̶̨̨̗̻̗̩̤̠͔̞̘̦̦̻̞͙̺͂ͨ̋͊͟ͅmͦͧͮͦͦ̎͛̑͌̊̈́̋ͤ̚҉̶̼̜̳͖̹͙͉̠̺͈͟͟ͅy̸̤̜̮̝̞̪͉̘͍̟̪̹̬̣̝̯̲ͧ͂͛̆̿͒̇̎͐͛ͥ̀̽̽̃̇̍̑̾͝ͅ ̸̢͍̺̻̠̱̘̈ͤ̑ͬ͘͜b̡͔̜̖͈̲̖̞̮͊̆͒̒͞ǫ̮̖͎̭̫̼̙̞̫͕̻̼͚̣̭̓ͬ͋ͯͤ̈͂̏̋̿̍͆ͣ̎̎̀͛̋ͮ͝d̡̒̿̅̔͊͐̌̈͋͐͊͒͆̀͐̇͘͏̟͇̥̪̺̫̙͕͙͎͉̼̦̰̞y̴̡̛̼͍̥̺͈̬͖̗̖̰͙̬͓̹̪͖̑ͥ͗͐̿͝͠.̡̯̗̟̮̟ͧ̃ͥ̈͟͜͝ ̛̻̩͕͉̱̮͇͉̣͚̲̮̪̞̩͆ͤͩ̔ͤͮ̍͟I̴̟̥͍̎ͭͣ̆̋́͟ ̷̡̲͕̱̹̺͇͇͚̭̙̜̻̦͔̏ͫ͛͒͆ͥ̇̔͌̇͌̈͟͞ͅͅs̨̨͖̭̮͚͍̱̳̒̽̎ͨ̍͛͠č̽̏̃͊͏̴͕̖̥̭̞͕͉͇͍̰̭̺̼̬͚̠̺͡r̸̵͙͍̻̣̅ͮ̅̍̈́ͪ̆̆͠o̞͎͙͚̻͉͇̟̠̱̗̝͔̪͎̟̥̫ͤ̓ͦͯͦͣͪͪ͆͗͌̚͝lͨͧ̈̋͛ͦͣ͋̔ͣͭ̏̀̈͗͆͏̵̤̪̺̹̱̜͉̬̺̘͍͡l̸̛̘̘͈̠͖̼͙͙̯̰̰̙̼̣ͥͣ̽ͣ̿̔̓̀̓̒̽͜͠ ̨̪̟̞͖͇̟̞̻̮̫̪͚͖̬̰̺͕̘̥̿̉ͬ̄ͬͤͦͬͪ̅ͧ͘͜͝͠p̷̛̛͎̤͖̱̪̘͎͔̮̯̥̟͎̮͓̳̘ͬ͗ͬ̆̐̈ͪͥ͒͡ͅã̧̡̫̖̬͇̻̭̞̳̮̺͚̹̟̬̬̪͎̏ͣ̎ͅsͭ́ͫ͋͆͜͡͡͏̤̩͓̭̪̜̜̗͚̱͔̭͙̰͕̞ͅͅẗ́ͩ̅̓̃̋͊̎҉̱̻̰̥̰̳̜̱̤͜͟ ̴̧͙͙̝͖͇͇̗̱͐̈́͊ͭ̅̓̅ͪ͋ͫ́̂ͫͬ̒͟͟ì͚̪͔̬̗̩̹̲͉̻̾ͣ̅ͫ̽̔̍̓ͮ̑͒ͭ̿̽̍ͪ̕m̶̭̬̣͎̣̯͕͙̱̥͓̮̐̎͑̃̈̅ͩ̈́ͦ̊ͭͣͤ̉a̵̢̬̥͇̲͙̩̗̜̰̹̭͚͖̣̼̹ͥ̅ͣͦ̌͂̊͂̉͛̃̓̂̋͛͞ͅg̡̹̞̺͒̇̄̐̅͑ͦͯ̀̓̎ͣͪ̍̆̇͢͢ͅȩ̷̡̝͙̳͕̠̤̖̟̯͉̪̬͈̹̠̩͙̽ͩ̒͑ͥ͂̏̋̿ͣ̆̚̚̕͟s̈ͤ́ͦ̔̅̇ͮ̊̾͏̰̺͚̰͟ͅ ̶̢̡͚̮̞̘͓͓̝̲͉̻̦̫̪̹̤̦̓ͭͨ̾ͭͥ̆̃̌̃̄̽ͦ͑ͪͪ̈́͞ȇ̩͈̖̯͖̯̍ͫ̅͋̾ͦ͋̇̈͌͆̽̆̃͘͘͘͟v͆͌̈ͩ̈́̈̆̅͏̸͈̙͍͍e̢̯̲̮̘̥̠̤̺͇̫̺̤̟̓ͤ̓ͧ̚̕͝ŗ̛͚̮̫͖̜̟̫̯̫̥̗͍̖̱͂ͥͧ̾͢y̸̜̭͈̦͕̙̘̬̱̮̮̰̹̭͖͂̊ͥ̿̓̓̍ͫ͌͌ͨ͊̊̿ͦ̾ͫ̉͘ ̵̴̛̛̜̣͖͉̼͉̬͓͙̱͉͎̅̃̌ͧ̓͆̇͌ͤ͐̂̋̌̓ͮ͑ͧͤb̷̴͇̭͎̺̖̻̥ͦͯͪ͊̅̌͐̑ͦ͐͂̆ͨ͜i̓ͪ̿̄̈́̊͒̈ͬͤͭ͒̈́̅̓̓̏̋̕҉͕̰͓̞̺̼͕̤̠͝t̴̸̻̣͖͚͉̥̠̪̻̯̙̤̥̱͓͕͛ͥ͛͐̈̓̐̍̓ ̎̓́͂̽̏ͣ͐̚͏̨̳̼̜̭̫͎̖͕͚̭̮̯̯̱̠̺̞a̴̧̰̠̻̤ͬ̎̾ͬͭ͆͂̇ͧ͂́͜͝s̶̶̶̟̟̲̪̘̠͙̮̱͎̼̱̠̭̍̀̎͐͌ͮ̕ ̂̃͛͒ͩ̌̔̿͆ͩ͡͏̛̦̞̱̯̺͉̖̪͍̪̘̠̺̞̯̘̕ͅv̡̟̩̳͍̬́̒̐͗ͪ̉̓̾͌̚͞į̛̒̌̃̔̇͑̿ͤͪ͟͏̯̣̫͙̪͙̯͈͕͇̟͙͎͙͍̲͓o̸͗͑̏̃̅͐͊̑̓̌̔̊̅̿͟͜҉̼̯̫lͧ͌̃̊ͤ̿̿̉͒̄̎ͯͧ͏̹̦̠͖͇̟̺̞͍͡͝͡ê̖͙̳͎̦̯̰̭̽ͩͯ̿̆͆͋ͥͭ͡͡͡n̸̨̛̯̝̣̺̿ͩ͂̉ͦ̔͛̆ṱ̛̺̳̺͎̤͉̼͖̣͉̭̝͓̹̤͛̑͐̂͂ͦ͂̓̈́̔̇̑̚͟ͅ ͋̏ͫ̽ͥ͛ͯ͒̈҉̸̢̛̼̦͔̮͈̟̲̺̝͓͉̬̳̺̱̞̕ͅa̟̺̻̼͔͈͍͇̥͉̲̪̓̌̈́ͫ͊ͯͫ͐ͭ̌͑́̾̽̉̚̚͟n̬͚̫̤̜̳͇͔̫͖͙̙̟̤̒̈́͋ͨ̈́ͩ́̈́̄ͦ͢͠d̤̩͍̻̟̣̬̩͓̝̘̟̻̬̱̙̞ͬ̐̄̈́̔͌ͦ͗̄̓̚̚̕͜ͅ ̸̢͍̱̹̬̋̉̄ͤ̑̿͒ͩ̈̈́̒̐̋ͥͦ̚̚̚͘͢͠b̛̞̯̺̖̤̰̼̘̭͇̟̜͓̂̄̽ͦ̉͢e̴̼͈̠̙ͨ́̆̌ͦͣ͆̚͢a̖̪̻̮̞̮̲̼̞̠͛͑͑̐̃ͭͣͫ͛ͫ̂ͯ̓̍̒̆̍͘͡uͥ̽͗͊̈́̅ͤ͏̷̧͕̲̬̯̻̕͠t̸̷̀ͥͪ͏̹̤̠̙͖̭̱̖̘̳͖ͅį̬͈̣̖͊̅̎͌͋͒̈͢f̴̴̨̰̱̣̫̥̭̫̱͓̪̙͚̠̦̖̟̮͒̃̓͌̅ͭ͗ͨ̿ͯ̾̃̄ͯ͘͡ͅu̴̡̻̩̘̠̘̤̬͙͍̦̻̖̝͙̟̻̠ͭ̓̈ͬ̓l̡̨̛͚̜̼̣̳͍̤̙̫̣̙̅̂ͯͩͫ̇̚ͅ:̈́̾͐ͫ̉̆ͦͮ̚͏͎̩̲͇̯͝ ̸̶̸̧̊̃̆̈́̒̌̔̏҉̟͈̤̖̲̞̱̫̪͇̞̬̘̜͉̮l̸̶̛̗̪̖̻̰̺̫̩̭̮͖̱͙̑ͪ̍͊̾̌̍͒ͣ̈́̊̋ͨ̍̊̀̌͢ͅu̵̡̱̬̭͖̭̲̮̞͇͚̳̮̠͇͙̬̖̭̓̾͊̅̃̊̇̈́͐ͪ͑ͤͭ͆̋̽ͮ̚m̸̴̂ͮͪ̒̋̂̎̐ͫͫ̆ͣ̈́͐ͦͮ͐̚҉̵̛͓͍̟͇i͗̈́ͪ͆͌ͮ̀̅ͦͤ̈́͛̒͛̍̋̔͏̨̻͔͇͓̩̱̬̻̙̜̦̥͖̠̖̱̰̕ͅn̛̞̭̻̣̥̪̹ͣͥͤ͞͝ͅo̴ͣͧ̀ͥͨ̒̋͆̃̍̂̈ͨ̂ͬ̎͛̚͝͏͓͇̲̳̬̰̱̪͎̮̬͕͈̞ͅư̜͎̠̜̹̭̲̖͎̜̣̫̺̺̻̙̜̤͗ͮ̀̔ͦ͒̀̋ͩͩ̅̉̅ͬ̕͝s̶̡̛͈̰̫̭̪̟̳̺̣̗̻̯̻̯̱͊ͩ͛̋̊̏ͪ̅̆̄͂͊͒͞͞,̷̛̫̠̫͚͍̝̻̞͍̅̅̉̔͘͜͝ ̨̳͔̜̰̙̭̠̗̦̺͖͇̤̐̎́̈̽̔̈̒̏͂̾̍͠ͅr̍̑͋ͨ́̽͝͏̯̭̘̝͕̗̱͖̯̹͍͍͚̙ͅa̶̳͈̼̲̓̔͗̏͑̔̅͟͝i̷̧̧̛̻͈͇̘̰͚̥̣̪͔̖̱̣̙̘̰͒̔͒ͪ̒͆̕n̢̬̙̤̙̤̗̱͖̝̖̝͈̖̄͗̾͡b̛̠͓̙͍͉̼̔̾ͤͫͫ͛ͬọ̴̧̮̣͕͈͉̲̲̥̗̣͕͉̦͕̌́̅ͯͩ͢͞͞w̶̡̥͙͇͍̼̟̫͇̜͔̟̭̦̘̯̺̋͗̿ͥ̐̆̈́̉͑ͨ͊ͪ̋̎ͯ̓̓ͩͭ͠-̶̧̝͓̩̩̮̪̪̐̑͋͒͂͐ͧ̅̓͂ͦͮͦŝ̶̴̡̜̣̻̩̰̪̒̈̑͌̚k̜̖͓̰̤͎̪̮̺̘̫̭̮̥̩̠̹̦ͣ̔͛ͯ́͐̄̈́ͭͭ̍̄̈́̃̑͟ȋ̵̻̩̥͉̬̭̭̹̱̲̼̰͚̩̥̯̘̜̔͂̄͂ͧ͞ͅn̶̪͖̮̮̠̯̰̘̰͍͛͐͆͛n̶̢͊ͦ͒̎̽ͧͪ̓́̿̅̊ͫ̇̅͋ͤ҉̴͉͔͇̼̠͓̼̺͞e̡̘̪͕̹̳̹̰͈̬͎͙̙̳̍ͨͩ̿ͧ̚̕ͅͅd̗̤͈͙̓͂̊ͦ͆ͤ̔ͯ̅̈́̐́ͦͧ̕ ̡͔̥̘̖̤̞̟̻̈ͬ̿̓ͬ͢c̶̛̭̰͉̲̪̻̪̻̝̘̹̤͑͐̅͒̄̂̄͟r̨̙̺̖͍̜̤̜̜͔̭̟̱̬͍̫͙̙̿ͮ̂ͫ̀͘ȩ̵̝̖̘͎̙̳̘̠͕͖̰̟͓̘̟̳͑͛̍ͬ̅̄̉ͫ̍̑̉̓ͨ̍ͪ̅͒a̵̢̝͔̞̫͚̲̖̘͂ͩ͗t͇̤̞̟̝̼̞̬̭͓͔͓̆ͦͦ̃͗͊̄ͥͨͪ̄ͪ̀̕ư͎̲͓̯̤͆̄̊͊̄̌̓̋ͨ̅̽ͤ͟ͅr̵̝̘̞̻͕̫͔̳̲̳͈̘ͦ̄̉̽͐̏̓̈͛̇̊̽͊͟e̶̴̙̖̘̥̤̞̯̞͖̰͉̤̱̮͈̯̬ͧͯ̂͂͑̂͆̉̆̌̋͟͠͞s̛̲̲̭͇̜̜̠̦̲͙̳̊ͨͤ̇͑͞ ̛̹̩͈̘̝͚͎͕͖̜̤̝͖͎͇̻̹̯ͭ͑͑͊ͪ̒͑ͥ́̒͢w̒ͦ̈̇́ͫ̃͏҉̶̝̳̬̟̟͟i̡͉̩̠͓̮̻͓̝̦̖̥̣̩͕̹ͨ̓̆ͨ̍̓̈͛͋͂ͤͤͤ͗̈͘ͅͅt̴̵͚̮̫̲̲͈̹͙̺̝̮͎͈͍̹̋̒̉̃̿ͭ͑͜͞͡h̛̺̲̮̳̤̞̺̺͈̻̮̯̞̻͖̝͔̼̾̎̈͂̍ͤ̆͌̃̿͝ ̴̷̪̟̟̫͖̆ͧͫ̑̓̾̈͆̽̀̀ͯ͆̊͛ͮͬ̏͢͟ͅͅḃ̸̨̮̬̞͈̯͍͓̫͖́̿͋̅̇͊ͣ̓ͨ̓͟͝u̷̷̢̙̜͇̱̯̪̗͈̍̉̉ͩl̛ͯ̒ͤ̂ͥ̓̅҉̶̧̞̹̹̰̳̪b̸̴̥͓̜̤̣͉̙̻͛̈́ͯ̐̕ͅõ̸̵̢͚̩̮̱̣̤͇͎̯͚̰͚̣̩̽̄̃͗̒͌ͤ̽̾̇̚͜ư̡̡͔͇̟̬̼̭̖̹̻̲̪̥̪̋̓̉̽̚͟s̸̬͙̗̹͙͓̖͎͙̈́ͪ̿̑͐̈͂̃̾ͨ̔ͦ̒̅ͩ̋̓͘ ̷̩̺̯̙̘̮̜ͮ͆ͩ͌̔̉ͭͣ͐͘͘͟e̸̛͓̝̬̘̫͚̳͕̬̺̽ͣ͗̄͌̍͗ͥͥ̕͝͠ͅyͣ͛̽̒ͮ̓͒̏ͦ҉̴̜̟̤͉̯̤͈͙͞e̸̴̢͉͕̺͙͑͐͛ͪ̊͌̑̾͘͢s͋̿̾̉ͩ̽̈́͊̑̃̿̐͑̉̃̊̄̚͟҉̘̺̤͎̰̩̥ͅ ̷̵̸̙̭̱͈̞̫̞̘̼͍͇̥̝̰͉ͪ̐͗̄̔̎̽̂͂̃ͮ͞ͅa̧̢̟̞̝͔̮͈̘̯͚̣̮ͨͥ͛ͦ͒͒ͬ͊͂͌̑ͭ͟n̸̞̦̦̻̥̹̼͓̫̪͈͖̜̘̗̾́͗̀͑͑ͥ̓͂́̋ͭ̀͗ͮ̚͢͝d̵̥͉̦̖̺̞̼̤͈̝ͫ̀̔̂̏ͯͧ̏̓̈ͅ ̸͌̔̋͐ͮ̔͂̿͊̒͂̏҉̳̜̘̪̞̣͙͈̣̟̫̗͔̰͙̜͕̰͘͜s̵̷̘̰̳̬̭̮̰̬̮͈͖͚̰͖̘͒ͩ͛̆̓̚͘͡p̶̷̡̹̰̺̞ͮͥͥ̒̐ͧ̽̑̉̔ͣͫ̚͞a̢̡͖̱̹̖̰̠̯̭̘̳̻̯̦̾͛̓̈ͧͣ̂͂̆͛͋͑̾̓͐̈ͤr̨̥̹̯̳̊̂͆͂̏̉͆ͤͪ̐͆̍̋ͧ͂ͩ̚̕͟͢ͅk̴͉̠̺̻͔̣̥͚̞̜̙̳̬̖̹͙̫ͮ͆̓̌̐͐ļ̸͇͇͙͉̺͙͈̗̄̂̄̒͛̓̋̓̽ͮͭ̏̒͘͠y̴̵̩̘̮̱̜̙̦̭̬͕̠̘̮ͮ̽ͮ͋̅̋͗̂̏̊͐ͬͦ̉̿̒,̄̆ͩ̚͏̫̭͔̥͘ ͗ͬͤ̓͐ͩ͗͆͊̉ͨ̂̃҉̡͙̜̤͓͢s̵͓̱̘͎̘̲͕͍̊̂ͫ̋͊͆ͯͥ̓͗͠ͅi̛͛ͪ͆ͪ̊̂̎͞҉͚̮͔͕̱̯̼̮̭͖̹̼ͅl͂̉ͯ͋ͫ̐ͫ͜͏̼͕͚̖̙̝̙̮͕ͅk̢̢̜̝̩͍̻̱̬̙̯͙͕͙̺̈́ͩ̌̐̑ͮͦ̉͌͘͢ͅͅe̢͚͉̻̟͈͔̤̫̟̦̰͍̦̞̜̜̔͐͋͑ͯ͌ͬ̌̈̾͐ͩ͑̂͂͘͜͡n̛̛̘̪̩̯͍̼̲͈͖̬̾ͫ̔ͯ̎̋͑͡͡ ̢͔̺̞̺̲͎̻͔̻͍̠̭͖͔͒̄͑́ŵ̷̢͔͔͓̦̲̩͖̯͕̠̦͉̼̗̥͚̻ͩ̊̽̒̓ͮ̓͋͒ͨͩ̔ͬ̓̈̑̀̑͞ỉ̥̭̟̫̥̞͙̹̺̄̄ͬͨ͑͌ͨ̓͂̈́̋͛̚͜͜͝ͅn̷̡̢͍̭̬̳̥̻͇̻̟̭̩̘̠͇͉̿ͬ͆́̉̃̃̉͊ͣ̈͟gͭͨͧ̏ͯͪ͛͡͏̶̷̖̘̙̙̫̝͖̱̣̥̖̣͓̗̰̬̠͠ṡ̖̳̙̠̲̬ͥͮͫ͜ ̴̨̼͚̣̲̻̺̗͙͓̝̳̖͉̮́̽ͥ̉͗̆̂͌̋̒̅̽̚̕w̛͎̘͓͕͖̝̪̩̟̞͉̤̌͂ͪ͑̂̓́̆̑͆ͤ͝͡h̴̷̖̫̖̠ͨ̐̎͐̎ͩ̎̔͋̓ͪͦ̉̆̎̂ͨͣ͋o̸̧̒͊̉ͫ̉ͮ̚͏̡̝̬̺̹̻̻̮̤͙̜̰̩̺͍̻̗̮͎ ̷̢̡̮͚̯͎̻̼͓͔̟̮͕͈͍̫͎̤͎͇̎͒͒ͩ̊̋ͬ͛̒̏͂̒ͥ͊ͭ͐̎̒̃c̸̮̭̹̩̙̺̬̪̤̭̟̫̠̠̗̠̦̝͌ͨ̔ͫͣͫ̓̓͡a̅ͫͣͥ͊ͫͬ҉̶̨̯͎̖̣̪͉̹̰̟̪̯̮̻͇͙r̷̅̃̔ͮ͑͊ͮͪ̂̓̎̊͆ͪͬ̾͛̕͠҉̝̞̠̬͜ͅr̸̦̥̜̳̥̻͍͎̲̜̯̖̘̦͖̱̩͗̓͌ͣ͘͡y̷̵̺͙̱̲̖̙̤͈̱̯̬̺͎̹̼͔̅͂͆̔͗̿̎̍ͫͤ̄͋̏̈́́̚͜͞ ̥̞̹̟̬̤͚͕ͨ́ͣ̐ͦͦ͆̂̇̚̕͝ḱ̵̛̝̦͉̜̯̩̰̙͈̏̓̈͐ͨ̆̿ͯ̋͂̊̊̽͜n̢̗̗͇̞͖͇͕̠̟̰̳̲̮̭͎̫̿ͭ͑ͫͯ͝i͋͛́͌͆̈̃̽̄ͯ͏̡̦̹͇̤͚̬̙͟v̸̨̮͍̩̬̦͕̲͕̖̼͎̬̥̝̟̞̯ͫ̅͆ȩ̷̶̥̮͙̟̟̭̩̤̼̎͗̓̓̂̎ͭ͝ͅs̡̪͙̗͚̘͆͆̐̑̆̇͆̓̈́͛͠ ̈͋̑ͤ̄̑ͩ͗ͨ̆̆͊͗̔͆̿ͦ͗҉̠̼̝̳̤͙̗͔̪͕͓̖̗̘̻ͅͅa͔̗̖̩̰̤̾̇͆̅̌͊̌̀͒ͥͨͭ͂͢͡ͅn̸̴͕̳̣̆͐̌́̎ͯ̚͘d̵̂ͭ́͗ͧ́ͥ̂̇͌̽͗͢͝͏̝͓̠̪̬͍̫͖̤̗̯ ̢͌̔̂́̐̓͒̄͏͏͔̲̳̰͙̞̹̩̻̤͉s̢͍͖͖͚̣̣ͯ͒ͥ͊̽ͥ̈́̿̉̈́͂͗ͦ̒̚͘͘w̵̐̏̐ͧͭ̇ͭ͏̹̺̝͕͉̺͇̮͠͡o̵͙͈͕̫̙̳̱͙̟̮̖̖̤̩̮̳͉̥̳ͭ̾̽͒̂̊̋ͩ̑ͤ̓͑̄͘͢͡r̛̺̙̫̯̥̭̫͇͚̱̰͔̫̝ͤ̌̌̚̕͞d̡̫̫͓̣̪̣̤̰̪̬̞̱̯͉̦̥ͮ͒ͭ́͛ͤͮ͂͋͋ͬ͌ͮͥ̎s̵͎̩̹̝͖̝̳͚̜͈̣͓͙̍͊͌͌̋͒ͣ͗̆͋ͨͫͤ͟ͅ;̨͍̮̝̠̬̋̈́̔͌̔͊ͣ͋̇́ͭͥ͐ͩ͜͢͡ ̦̣͔͕̦̘̼͔̠̋̄ͪ̿ͥͤ̅ͮ͊̋ͣͯͯ̕h̨̛͓̪͔̰͎̥ͨ͂̿̐̓͂ͩ͂̍̏ͯ̋̒̚̕ȉͫͫ̓ͪ̊̋̒̑͒̏͂̎̀̚͏̛̭͍̻̼̰͔͕̻̺͉͕̞̠͕d̠̗͉̩̀̇̅̒̈́̾ͤ̀ͫͥ͝͠eͣ͗ͬͣ̅͊̎̌ͣ̍̔̔̄̌́̒̓̒҉̤̗̜̜͉͟o̶̴̷͔͓̜̟̱̺̥̠͎̜͍̝͋̍̌́̑́̿̒͂̈̓̓̒̚u̵ͧͬ̒ͪ̿ͭ̃̓ͦ̈̽͛҉̸̧͉̖̗͇̻͜ş̴̼̹͚̬͙͓̰͔̭̌̀͒ͮ̉̂͌ͥ̒ͭͧͨ̓̂͌,̷̸̜̞͍̞̗̫̙̩̩̤̟ͤ̈́̿̌ͯ͠ͅ ̴̢̨̤̩̳̜͈̞̙̖̈́̓ͬ͑̆̏͆̿ͨͪͥ́ͮ̋ͨ̆̈́ͪn̷͌̌̈̇ͦ̌̌ͥ͛ͮͫ̓͆͏̮̪̜̹̻͚̠͎a͐͆̍ͮ̉̋ͪͯ̈́ͣ͋҉̛̹̱̦̗͘͟k̈͂͆̾ͭ̓͋ͭͨ̿ͩ͒̌͆ͨͤ͌̊͏̸̠̜̟̮̪̝̜̦̭̖̰̻̹̟̺ȩ̴̴̛͎̩͎̳̯̟̥̬̹̲̣̤̠̬̣̪̦̼ͥ̓̓̎̅̏̃ͫ͒̇̊͡d̸̩̙̤̮̻͖̹͚̝̬͇̭̮̰̤̳͖̩̂̍͒̄̅̅̿ͦ͆͑̕ͅ ̵̨̨̛̞̰͇͓̮̍̆ͫ͊͒̂̆̃̏̾ͨ͂̒̏̚͝c̺̦͕̠̰̞̺̭̎̌̍͒ͦ̾ͪ͘͞r̸̶̬̤̳̤̟̺͖̦̲̖͉̲̹̞̒̔͌̅̌̀ͫ̽ͅͅẽ̶̯̪̙̺̑͛̃̽̋ͯ̄͐ͭ̇̾́͌͊̌̚͠a͙͖̦̗͍̠̲̓́͌ͧ̍ͭ̈̆̓͘͟t̡͖͖̟̯̺̬͔̘̦̹̫̱̘̹͎͉ͯͦͦͤ̍͂̌ͦ͆̿͆̐̚͡͝ͅuͤͪ̂ͮͪͯ̚͏̛͉̪̩̲͖̩̹̺r̸̶͉̗̖̤̘̝̺̬̺̯͙̲̭̗̯͉̃̐͒̋ͩ̃̾̃͢ȩ̷̶̵̛̳̟̼̰̖̮̣̯͓̖͍͊ͨ̅̋ͅŝ̮̬͖͕͍͎͒͌̏̃̅̆̔ͭ͊ͤ͘ ͨ̊͑̂͢͢͏̯̣̦̼̬̖͈̣̼̯̬͔͕̹̞͔͇̪͜i̷̞̺̩͙͖͌ͩ̍ͫͦ͐͌̈́̌̌̓͗͝n͕̙̗͈͓̮̜̙̲̭̻͙͈̫͆ͬ̇̋̔͂̋ͩ͗̀͋̋̕͢ ͩ̾̀̾́ͦ̿ͤ͟҉̡̺̟̬͈̘̜̠͢c̴̶̸͕̩̲̰̯̥͎̝̘͇͍̙̥ͪͦ̏͐̉̓́͋́̈͝h̶̨̤͎͉̺̤̩̙̞̹͉̯̟̯̥̮̜̰̽̋̂̾̃͒̒ͦ͛̅͐̿͗̌ͤ̆̚̚͜a̻͈͙͓͚̬̗̲͖̹͓̖̪̬̥ͪͨ̉̌ͤ̍͘͘i̗͖̼̠ͩ̅̀͗ͣͦ͐ͬ͠n̵̸̡̪̜̺̣̰͕͚͍̬̣̺̓̏ͧ̓̒̃̈̐̆͒́ͤͬͨ͜s͒ͯ͋ͬ͆ͣͭ͏͉̙̰̦͖̼͝͠ ̳̳̹̝̬͙̦̰̹͖̬͇ͥ̒̊̎̓͠ͅw̴̆͌͆̐̈͂ͪ̂́ͫ҉̫̮̠̬͎̱̗͚̱͖̗̦̤̗͇̰̺̰̦h̴̷̦̱̗̺̮̪͈͗ͬͤ̊̽̑ͪ̽̑ͧ̋͑ͦ̇̚͘ơ͋ͥ̄̆̇ͨ̓ͤ͊͛̅ͬ͋ͬ҉̧͔̣͖̭̳͇̘͙͇̥͙̠͈̼͔̤̼̲̬ ͕̬͖̠͙̯̲͍͚̹̈́̒ͦ͂ͥͨ̽̐͞c̉͂̇ͯ̊͗ͦ҉̴̢̢͕̩̩͉͉̘̟͎͎̭͝ͅrͣ̏͛̌̓ͤ̐ͤ͂͗ͧ҉͜҉̛͖̝̭̮̭̮͉͇̯̻̼̲̱̦̬̼̮̕ͅā̵̧͙̗̹̰͇͔̩̩̖̼̝̣̯̳̲͇̈́͑̌̓͐̆ͪͦ̎͝w̢ͯͯͮ͐ͯ͂̈́̑̾̔͆͒̾̽̎҉̦̟̘̟͉͙̕͢͡ͅl̩̪̦͍̘͙͔̱̖͔̠̯̠̈́̊ͩ̄͗͜͝ ̩̗͖̣͙̤̟̠̻̦̙͍̯̮̍ͬͯ͊̎̑̈͂̀̋̄̎͗̉̌̚͡͡ơ͑͛̀̄̇͆̒́ͬ͘҉͚͖̰̘̠n̨̧̦̱̤̺͇̖̬̙͈̪͈̮̘͙̱̣͊̌̑͂̚͠͠ ̛̛̙̦̘̜̿ͤ̎ͬͩͬͥ͋ͭͤ͒͝a̴̧̛̹͚̘̰̙͋̋̎̋ͬ̌̍ͬ͛͛̓̌ͩ͡lͪ̄̊̄ͥ̈́͝͏͖̫͓̳͎̬̤̬͖̼͎͉͉͝l̵̴̯̥̟͔̜͈̙̫̗̱̘̯ͭͥͣͫ̊̍̊͂ͦ̆̔͋ͦ̏ͦ ̵͔̥͓͓̘̩͔͇̞̯̲̝̫͖̝ͨ̓͊ͤͧ̄̂͐̊̉͗̃̈́͘͡fͮͭ̉́ͮ̂̔̓͋̽̑̋͏̷̲̩̪͙͙̰̗̦̠̘̖̩͡ǫ̼̖̼̭̝̠͖ͬͤ̈́ͨͬͭ͑̉ͤ̊́͒̅̅ͦ̚͢͝u̶̷̢̙̼̝͔̲̬͎̳̣ͪ̽̊͐̂̎̄̉͋͛̒͂ͩ͋̒͞ŗ̢̹̖̦̘̟͉̺̪͍͓̙̜̜͈͖ͩͨͣͥ̋͂̈͗̇́̄͗̓̓s̛̪͈͉͍̟̦̲̦͔͎͓̘̠̳̣̯̳͐ͩ́̉͛ͮ̊ͥ̾͘͝ͅͅ ̵̨̯̫̞͖̥̞̈́̅̓ͮ̐͆̄͛̿̆̓̕͢ͅa̷̴̧̭̣̙̯̥̺͓̖͖͍̰̥̦̤̓ͨ̿ͣ͟ṉ̡̛̻͇͓̘̳̬̣̦͍̓ͣ̏͂ͯ͂͒̊̍̑͝d̴̥̣̼̲͉̤̟̳͈̺̮͛̋ͪ̽͂͢ ̌̓ͫ̍́ͤͣͥ̐̎̃̅̄̚͏̸̧̮͈̤̮̖̹͇͖̞͚̻̰͔h̘̲̩̬͍̫͙̤͚̙̭͙̤̓ͮͧ̆ͪ̑̋̂̇̈́ͫ̕͠a̡͈̜̜̝ͮ͋̆̎̽͑ͦ̎͂̌̈́͒̑̅̄̽̏̋v̨͎̺̱̺̮͓͎̞͓̩͉̪͕̲̽͋̂̈e̾̃̋̄ͣ͋ͯͭ̚͏̛͓̣̘̰̣̞͙̳̜̲̲̬͕͇̱͢͠ͅ ̛̥̩̱̭̘͉ͤͤͤ͆͒͐̌̒̊̒ͮ̎ͯ͗c͔̯͎̞͙̥͍̱̺̦̣͎̠̻̹ͫ̃̃ͯ̿̕ŏ̴̦͖̠̖͓̣̰̣̹͉̟̘̖͛͆ͮͨ̏̍͆̄̚̚̕͝ͅṙ̶̷̤̤̭̮̪ͤͯ͋ͧk̸̢͙̱͔̺̲̠̹̻͕̪̦̰̝̫̺͖̲̭̒̏ͮͫͧ̒͛͐ͣ͑͜s̾̋͆ͨ̔ͮͫͣ͂̅͏̤̗̥͓͍͔̯̯̱̱̮̳̣̮̦̬͢c̴̱͍̙̄̎ͨͯ̀̎ͥ͒ͫ̚ͅr̈́̐͑̒́҉̢̤̼͍͎̲͇͜͟ȩ̴̟̱͙̹̦̜̺̝̫͍͐ͭ̅͑ͣ̓̽ͩ̾͊̃ͪ͒ͨ͛͜ͅw̷̜̺̹̫͎̫͉̞͔̫̤͓͉̼̪̍ͩ̓͐̿̏̎̌̒͛̌ͥ̆͐ͫ̐̀̃̂͜͢͠ ̛͓͈̟̞̳̱̻̻͈͓̣̱̟̖̞̠̟͂͒̇̓̇̆̏̈́ͦ̆͢͠t̵̨͓͚͈͉̖͐ͫ̓̉͗̉ͥ̌͂͐ͥ͑͘͞ͅaͤͦ́҉҉̥͔̼̻͖͕̺͓͓̮͎̯̠̖͔͍͕ͅi̷̴̧̞̼͈͓̲͚͕̞̫̺̯͐̋̊̏ͯͭ͆̐ͧ͜͝ͅͅl̵̢̮͔͖̥̪̖̖̯͔͙̥̝̱̩̳̭̟ͯ͊͒̉̓͌̀̆͂͋ͭ̑ͤ̀ͫ̽ͪ̏̕s̆ͨ͑͌̿͋ͥͨͥ͋̋҉̺͕͎̳ ̴̨̧̡̠̘̠̟̪͇̯͉̦̩̱̲͍̽̂͐̽̿ͬͣ͐̏ͬ͘ͅa̶͔͈͖͇̬͇͕̺͒̆̍͆̔̽́̉ͮͫͣͧ͜͞n̛̛̠̦̝͖͚͓̱͉̫͈͙̟̖͓̯̦̺ͧ͊͊͛͑̓̈́ͯ̒ͣ͌́̈͠d͖̲̦̲͔͎̫͍͚̠̯̫͙̞̭͇̞̞̜ͥ̒ͪ̓̾̕͠ ̵ͩ̿̿̄̈̌̋̓͜͏̪̮͎͈̣̻̱̪̠͔̳͟ç͚̩̱̼̖͔̻̥̯̤̗̺̯̃ͯ̃ͩ͑̽ͫ͗̈̑̊̌̆ͥ͟ͅļ̸͓̥͈̝̝̜̰̪͈͙͎̻́̍̆̆͊̓̆̚͢o̸̢͊ͭ̉ͦ̿ͣ͏̲̙̺̖͕͙̭̠̜̤͕͖͖͈ͅv̐͋̀ͦ͐͜҉̴̢̩̪̰̞͔̬͔̪͎̩̺̠̟̘͚͍̝ḛ̸̛̜͉̝̞̼̪̙͎̻̰̫̣͈͔̂̄̉̎ņ̴̧̠̳̬̠̖͍̬̟̻͈̻͂̏ͨ̅ͨ̅̈̆͝ ͍̤̤̫̣̹̤̝ͦ͊̾̈̑́́͆̀͋̍̚͢f̧̛̤̦̗̱̫̩̯͕̤̖̮̹̘͈̹̌ͩ̎̓͑̌́̿̾̄̍ͨ̎̂ͭ̈ͯ͜͜͠e̢͗ͮ̆ͯͯͤ̿͑ͥͬ̍ͮ̔͂̍͝͏̧̫̯̻̫̩͚͙͉e̢͙̪͎͓̘͔̭̙͎͖̩̠͔̱͋̽̆ͧ͆̈́ͫ̅ͥ̐ͩ͒̆̈́̎̐͂͘͞t̶̢̢̞̻͕̥ͪ̀̎̊ͭ̄̌̊ͣͫ̉̌̏ͅ ͨ̾̿͊̄ͯ͑ͬͪͫ̑͏̡̖̩͓͍̰̤̼̩͕̬ͅl̴̨̞̟͍͎͔̲̯̱̹̏ͦ̑̃͆̚̕͝ͅį̸͙̼̻̘̰̞̠͓̠̠͍͉̌̆̍ͪ̒ͥ̆̍̈ͤ͐̚͢k̴͐ͭ͊̄̊̂̉͑̈́ͦͦ͏͉̬̬͈̠͎̖͚̼̠̗e̢͋̏̓ͯ̈́̆̚͏̟̼̭͎̘̘̠͉̯̭͙͎̣͇͓̙͢͡ ͤ̇̀͂ͬ̍̽̅ͧͫͧ҉̧̝̰̰̩̹͢͞p̛̝̝̻̰͕̼̣̻̼̙͙̼̳̣̺͔͈̟̏̓̂͛̄̍ͯ̋̎̓ͫ̍̊̓̋̓̃ͩ͝ḯ̷͔̯̘͖̙̳͚̳̥͎̖̎͒̚͢͞ͅg̸̶͍̤̙̥̼̠̝̒ͮ̅̔ͧ͌̉̑͆̽̊͂̆ͤ̑̾́̾͢͝͝s̫͎͔͉̘̘͑̉ͩ͌̀ͥ͘;̵̶͖͖̞̪͖̙̖̰̜̠͓̰͐̐̀͐̅ͥ́ͩ̕ ̧̢̨̢͙̪ͮ͌̽ͤ͋̅̚̕ͅs̬̬̘̼̥͑͊ͣ̚̕͡i̸̳̘̱͇͔̯̣̝̎ͭ̈͗̍͋̀͌ͭ̀́ͣ͂ͭ͠l̶̶̵ͬ͑̽̒̋͂̀̍ͧ͏̜̠̜̳͈̻̜͉͚̹̤͢v̷̫͎̮͔͎̟̞̮̮̘̹͕̖̼̗̪̘̓ͪͨ̒̏ͤ̌̓͗ͦ͠e͋̇̔͗̎̿̈ͦ̅̏̈͒̏ͩ̋͏͈̪̺̫̤̣͔͉͙̗̻͎̺̲͍̲͜͟ř̀̓̋͂ͮ̓͗ͨͬ̊̓̿ͯ̀ͭ̇̿̂҉̱͇̣̬̜̻̟̝̳͔̩̟̻̙̖̯ͅͅyͤ̋̾̅͊͋̑̉ͤ̿̆͊͋̉͂͏̶̱̰̪̬͓̦̬̹͕̫̣͜ ̨̑ͧ͋ͩ̄ͬͤ̒̉̅ͬ͑̉ͥ͌̚̚͟͏̺̫̯̗̬̦̺̣̼̣̬p̛̣̭̹̙̪̻̲̬̖̦͆̔̅̽̔̔͛̀̾̈́̀̔ͥͯ̎̋̚̚͜͞ͅḯ̴̒̑͗͒̊̋͊͒̚͜͝҉͈̙̰̖̺̘͘x̨̱̘̦̤̙͍̮͙̼͐̈̈́̀̈́̑̐̾͂̽͘͜͞i̧̹͈̻̫̣͍͖͖͍̘̱̬͚͈̭̫̍̈́̎̊̈ͬ̂̆̏ͨͭͨ̽ͪ͌̽ͅͅé̡̝͕̤͗̀ͦ̌ͬ̋̓͘͡ ̴̸͓̯̬͓̞̤̫́ͪ͗́̿̈́̈́̄͐̾l̨̛̗̜̜͕̻͓ͣ̅̊̂̎̉̓ͧ̽̑ͤ͛͛͡i̢̢̹̠̥̺͔̮̳̝͔̖͈͙̘̤̩̱̩͓ͪ̾͛̈́̄͋ͧͯ̈́ͭ́ͩ̇̔̏ͯ̂̔͜ͅk̨̳͉̤͉͚̲̬͕͔͍ͩ̒̐̇͛̂̾ͧ͛̏͜͞͠͡ȩ̵̸̳̯̱̼̹͙̺͕͚̩̼̞̓̅̾̏̆̏͑ͧ͂̏͝ ̮̣̗̟̰͍͎̞̭̅ͫ̓̏͒ͯ͐̋̒͐͡b̸̜͚͔̰̪̣̜̜̺̟̺͖̼̳͕̩ͮ͂͛͐̽͆͐͐̍ͫ̑ͪ͘ͅͅěͪ̋ͯͯ̐ͬ̂̇͑̈ͨͫ͒̆͠͝͏̢͓͎̝͙̮̙̭̞̭͕ͅḭ͈̗̠̦̺̠͕͖̯̟͓ͮ͗̋̿͒̎͛ͩ͢ͅṇ̥͉̲̮̦̱̝̤̣̼̮͆̇̌̉͆͂̒̕ͅg̸̨̭̦̬͚̪̩̦̟̯̭̼̪̭̩̳̫̻̒̐ͦ͊̓ͨͫ̍ͅs̛̰̠̟͙͈͍̳̻̤̦̼͕ͦͯ̈́̂̀͂̆ͥ͢͟ͅ ̶͕̤̟͈̥̼̙̎̈́̃͑̔ͪ̓̆̒̒͠t̷̴̸̵̨̼̲̪̻̹͍͆̆̓ͤ̑͛͂ͨ͐̂̚ŗ̮̼̼̹̹͈̟̜̱̰̝̖̬̋̅̿̆̕͟͝ͅa̶̢̨̟͍̱̺̣͖͙̥̜̘̞̮͈̞̖̝̟̮̾̉̓̍ͫ͗̂̈́͌͗̿̔ͦ͐̕p͋̿͆ͧ͐͆̽͋҉̧̬̗̦̠͕̲͢͝ṕ̵̗̺̳̳̩̎̍̃̌̎ͫ̐͛͑͘e̸̴̩͉̰̫͔̝̻̰͍̪̥̥͕͎̼͈̥̤̿͂ͦ̂̊̈̈́̆̃̋̃͢ͅd̛ͨ̊̉̏̔̈̒ͩ̓̓͋͐̑̊ͭ̊͂̚̚͏̡͔̯̰̗ ̵͇̗͈͙̗̳̬̱̫̗̼̹̼͉̈́͌̐͊̇̆̂̊̅̈́ͧ̂̒̀ͤ̐͌͢͜͝í͋̂̽ͣ̿͒̍ͪͪͮͤ̉̀̓͒ͭ̕͝҉̗̼̖̬͘n͎͍̞͇̞͔̼̦̱̦̞̥̬͐̏͛̆͂̂͝ ̩͎͔͇͕̯͎͚̳̞̰̳̤͖̍͛ͦ̌ͩ̔ͫ͆̌̊͐̿ͩͧͧ̍̓͟͢͡cͬ̇̀̽҉͙̞͎͈̬̖͔͟a̅͑̓͊͑̿ͦ͏̖̝͔̺̭͓̝̪̙͙̼̺͓͇̜͔̕g̶̴̭̭̞͉̬̱̰̣̥͎͕̮̹̯̦̬̭̀̿ͬͮ͑̋̎̂̂͛̎̿̽̕͟ͅe̍̒̽̅̕̕͏̙̜̯͍͚̝̼͕͍ͅs̾̂̑̾̈́̈́͛ͫͮ̃͏̛̘͓̱̩͟ ̧̘̺̗̳̱̠͊͊͗͊̋͒̈ͦ͆ͩ͠͞͠ͅâ̢̼̦̯͉͔͍͇͙̇̿̊̕̕͟ņ̸̷̵͈͔̪̭̼̬͔͔̜̌͗̉͛ͦ̽̇̑͆̿ͨͮ̉d̙̪̮̫͙̦͖̊ͩͭͮ̾̈́̎̔̏ͣ͠͝ͅ ̧͕͖̺̦̠͕͙̘͓̻̥͙̬̘̾ͣ̽ͪ̔͐̾ͩ̑ͦͣ̈́̚c̵̻̝̲̪̼̝̮̻͓̿̓͆̂͂ͯ̄̄̄̆̔̒͛͌ͮͭ̒ͭ͢͝ŗ͔͉͔͖͔͔̑͌̇ͮ̀́͋̂̃̋͗̄̽̑͠y̯͚̝̞͉̰͐̾ͭ̈ͥͭ̃̓̂̉ͬ́̄ͬ̀ͧ̚͢͠͝i̵̛̲̺̼͔̯̿͒̀ͣ̒͛̾ͬ́͋̽ͤͬň̷̞͈̼͕̲̼̝̘̩ͮͯ̄́͌͂̚͜g̛̦̟̫͓̳̝̩͙̘͉̱̙͊̇̊̔̍͆ͨ̇ͬ̂͒ͭ̓́̔̿ͩ̽͌͘͡ ̴̷̴̨̖̼͖͎̫͚͎͉͙͖̤̠̘̫͖͓͎̟ͪ̄ͬͮͦ̌̄̏ͅo͂̌ͭ̔́ͤ̈́̅͋̌ͬͩͭ̒ͩ̄͘͜͢͏̶̱̩̝͍͎͚̜͓̘̲͔͎̭̠̩͙͈̘i̛̘̞͙̱̮̥̗̗͎ͮ͑̏ͦ͑ͭ͑̚̚͠͡ͅḽ̷̛̟͉͖̤̬͎̋̇̾ͦy̥̳̝̯̹͇̗̒̽̌ͯ̿ͨ͐̌ͧ̐̂̕͜͞͡ͅ ̵̢͔̥̫͓̥̞͈̤̹̜͙̼̩̭̤̗͎̮͑ͣ̑̏̈͐͂͆̏̉ͤ̈́ͪͨ̀̓̉͟͠b̷̧̛̛̜̬͉̖̜͓̹̜͕͍͈̘̻̱̉̃̊ͪ͘ͅl̸̩͙͓̜̟̪͇̣̭͎̦̺̝̪̳̥ͪ͗̉͊ͤ̇̾̽͘͟ͅͅͅa͊ͨ́͑ͯ̅̎̿̄̽͟͠͏̩̭̺̰̝͍̤̜̼ͅċ̷̨͎̜̞̫͇̖̙͉͕̝̻͉̗̤̭̣̪̥̜͆̐̔̾̇ͨ̔ͨͣͧ͋̀͠ķ͍̖̣̗͔̖͈͎̟̯̰͇̥̖͉̣͔̀ͬ́̾̉̋ͯ̈́̂͠ ̷̛̩̝̻͔̲͚͕̦̠̟ͦ̔ͤ͌̒͋́̎͋͂͟͝tͮ̑ͮ̾͐͌ͮ̿͛̄̅͆̚̕͘͟҉̩͎̫͇̺̖̥̖̻̪͈̣̰̩̻͎͙͘ͅe̷̞͈̼̞̪̝̹ͧ̀̓ͯ̊̂͒̌̎̆ͯͯ̎͌͟a̡̧͈͓͎͓͙̗̦̘̥̺̪̼̖͉̗͖͓̱ͨ̈̎̾͒ͤ͒̇ͨ́͂ͩͮ̇̃ͦͦ͑͡ͅr̳̘̮̰̣̘̭͕̼̉̈́͂̍ͨͪͭ͘͝s̶̸̢͇̠͚̙̲͖͖̙̮̱͛̌̅̐̄̓̈̏ͭͧ͘͡;̧̢̰͈̬͙̇ͮͮ̅ͣ̆̍̿̔ͥͩ̅̈́̚̚͞͞ ̸̧̪̫͖͇̱͈̥͈̲̗͖̭͙̬̻̘̦̓ͧ̓͝͝I̧̻̮̹̪͍̤͍ͫ͐̅͆̂̿͛ͣ̋̑͊̄̾̋͊̎̍͟ͅ ̝̺̝̘͇̭͉̔͐͂̊́́͌̓́̈ͥ̏̈́̔̐̚̚̕ͅl̡̾̄̎͋̓̅̎̽̉̓̿ͥ͏̡͓̹̜̠̩̠̻̜̞͈͡ͅo̷̎ͤͦͤͦ̚҉͕̮̝̱̰̯ͅö̢́̋̆͂̽͏̪̝̬̩͍̩̥̜k̸̢̩͇̤̘̮̳͓̝͚͕̻͓̅ͯͬͮ̓̀̊ͮ̏̿ͥ̌̃͑̃͊ͬ̒ͪ͜ ͉̲̜̪̼͇͂ͤ̓ͥͦ̈ͫ̐͂͗ͪ͂̕ͅf̷̧̺̗͉̤͉͉̣͇ͩ̀̀ͥ͋̔͌̅͑͂ͅo͕̠̝̙̠̥̫̟̮ͫ̅̔ͮ̿ͣ͊͝͞r̰̖̗̼̫ͩ͗̀ͤ̾͝ ̵͇̘̹͔̰̏̊ͪͦͩ̑͛ͣ̾͑̂̑̿͋͒ͧ͛͡m̵̢̦̟͎̙͕̳͇̠̺ͪͫͣ̿ͭͩ̏̾͌̋̚͘͢͞ÿ͌ͨͧ̍ͪ͛̃ͨͧ̂̌ͪ̚҉̸̤͔͈̩̠̦̲s̢̡̛̲̲̪̤̳͂ͧ̒̈̈́̃̇ͬ̎ͪ͞ͅͅͅȩ̵̹̬̜͍̩͈͓̭͙ͧ̇͑ͥͭͤ̾ͯ̈͑̓ͧͯ̓ͧ̊̚l̝̜͉̩̬̹͖͈̼̜͙̱̺͉ͫ͋̑͒̍̍̓̽ͫ͘͜f̨͍͖̺̭̦̫̄̆̈́ͭ̄ͪ̑͑͌ͪ͛ͫͬͯ͂͜͡ ͔͕͕̹̬͉͓͍̺̘̭̟́̆̇͛̏ͭ͛̆͐ͪͭ̏ͥ̽̃̈̊̊͡i̷̡̭̪͇̖̟͈̺̙̹̗̣̯͉̦̥̦̘̝͌̽̓ͭ̽̒̐͆͋ͦ̓̂̓̄̂̚ͅn̫̩̥̱̺̿̈̇͆͒̆̃̑ͧͭͬ͢͡ͅ ̷͇͈̼̳̺̘̭͑̃̊́̾ͩͤ͐͝t̷̹̩͔͚͇̤́̅ͦͦ͒ͩ̕͝h̸̲̦̗̜͙̭̯̜̪̖͐͛̽̈ͣ̂ͩ͘͜͞ơ̷̹̻̪̻͙͇̘̘̙̞̳̻̩̱̜͂̆ͮ̈͟͝s̶̷̬̦͓̪̣̼̭̩͇̞̦̦̺̟͑̾̈́̑̊ͫ̾ͥ̄́̓̎͛̔̀̑ͫ̈́͜ͅe̡̫̤͔͔̜̟̮̞͈̐͂̿͊̔͌̓ͭ̿͛̃͛̑ͩ̎̈́͊͠ͅ ̷̢̦̤̫̠̣̯̯̔̄̃̎ͬ̽͂̊͌̍̃ͦ͘͢i̞̲̤̟ͫͣ̿͒̾̎ͯ͐ͯͦ̚̚͞͝m̸̝̲̤̦̖̰̫͙̥̙̻͔̜̭̹̝͂͂̎̚͝a͊͊͋́͑ͨͭͤ̀̽̃͏̛͢͏̪͖͖̻͟g͆ͯ̾̈́ͣ̽̅̓̀̉ͦ͆̎ͧͮ̐҉͏̸̺̪͉̲̺͞ẻ̵̶̲̭̗̥̮̪ͤ̄͐ͬ̌̽͞͠s̛ͥ͌̌̉͛̈́ͤͬͮͦ̄ͬ̎ͪ҉̸̱͖͓̫̮̭̯̪͕͖͈͈ ̴̶̞̙̪̼͕̲̜̻̞̮̹̯̞̞̘̤͔͓͒̾̾ͦ̔̎͝b̵͈̖͚̣͔̝͕͔̗̝̞̖̝͇̩̱͓̭̊̆ͥͧ͝ͅů̷͈̥̼̤̟̲͕̺͇͎̖͕͙̳͕̰̈̄ͧt̷̡̄̅̿̍̍ͩ͛ͬ̕̕͏͖̫͖̭̖̪̖̮͓͇͔͚̲ ̡̦̗̠̳͚̖̯̗̖͈̭ͧͪͧͨ̋͊͒̑̆̆̉ͯͮ̔͟I̶̡͚̮̲̖̥̣̳͚̩̙̝͚͇̹̺̩̗̒̈͑̅ͮ͒̀ͪͭ̋̿ͤ̓̀ͤ̏̏̚̚ ̴̴ͮͮ͗̄͆̎͆̑͗̽͛͐ͮ҉̴͇̼̠͈̙̹͕̝̬̭͚̟͎͕̹̞̬͖à̷̛̰̬̤̗͍̣̳͉̝̣̜͉̫̐ͧ͌ͩ̾ͧ̚̚͟͠m̮͇͇̫̻͕͎̩̟̘̺̗̻̱̱̹̂̆͊̊̔͌̉͊ͯ̉͋͑̈́̇ͯ̓ͩ̏̓͘ͅͅ ̟̦͔̗̯̻̦̮̙͓̳̤̺̯̣̣͌ͤ͆̌ͧ̈̑͗͘͜͞ͅn̡̝̼͈̹̖͍̝̗͍͉̍̈́̍̎̓̃̃ͯͯ̊̑̾̿͡͝͝͡ͅỡ̸̙̳̠̗̝̬̅̓͒͆ͣͮͯ̅̃̂͋̊͂͒͡t̴̢̞̹̟̪̦̫̝̩̹̫̱͇͖͚͒̊̏̎͗̆̃̋̆͑̄͛̋ͨ̀̊̈́ͯ̚ͅͅͅ ̾̒̃̒̐̓͆ͤ̾̇ͭͦ̏̔̽͏̹̲͎̫̘̟̣̞͓͓̖̮̼ͅt̢̩̥̫̹̜̳͕̯̦́̿͌̕ͅh̸̢̘̳͚͍̰͎̜͊ͩ̌ͣ̎͆̽͊̃̈́͠é̶̦̱̘̻͚̳̩͉̖̽̋̅̍ͨ̈̅̕͟͟͡ṙ͛̑ͬ̾̇͛̇̅҉̸̥̪̻̜̣̜̥͇͇͝ͅę̸̢̠͓̫̳͈͔͔̩̲̥̯̰̈̏̎̏̊ͭͣ̂̅̏ͭ͢.̡̜̫͓̤̰̣̹̘̣͚͕̮͇̗̥͈̙̣̣̄̍͆̾͐ͯ͊ͨͩ̑͛̏͐̈͋̋͜͡ ̓̎̃̽̑҉̴̜͖̭̠͎͇̙̣̙̫̘͍̞̹̫͍͡ͅͅͅÍ̷̶̛̳̘͖̼͚̎̏ͦ̉͞ ̡̮̘̪͓̹̖͓̫̾̿ͣͣ̀̚f̵̡͖͎̟͉͉̝̤̦̰̼̥͉̤̭̝̦̗̌̿́́̽͋̈̋͟ͅě͍̳̪̮͎ͨ͐ͣͪ͑͒ͪ̾ͦͥ͌̉̽̐́̿̚͞͝e̡̨̹̗͔̣͕͖͙͈̱͓͔͉̱̰̭ͤ͌̒͛͟͢͡l̓͗̆̋̃͂́̅͆ͦ̇ͣ͆́̿̚҉̥̻̦̻̻͓̝͚̤̲̝͉̺͔̝̯͢͢͝͠ͅ ̵̛̭͉͓̀̔ͥ̆͋ͯͦͩ̏̎̂̾̅ą̖̣̳̯̯̤̼͔̙̘̗̥͚̪̭͎̤͗͒̒́̂̎̀ͤ̏͗̓̽̌͟s̸̢̳͓͔̗͇̥̘͎̺̣̪̭̭̺̻̖̏̆̉͐͋̈́͗̎̇͋̊̒͟͢͜ͅ ̷̡̢̱̫͇̱̝̯͉̣̠͚̂ͫ͑̆̌ͦ̈͢͟ỉͯ́ͨ͐ͫ̓̓ͯͧ̄ͭͪ̆̓҉͏͙͓̰̗͇͉͚̼͕̯ͅf̴̵͈͖̮͔͚͖̓̈́̒ͦ̆ͤ͋ͩ̆͂̿̉͡͡ͅ ̶̧̄̀̆̋͒͠҉̯̜̲̺̱̩̖̟̙̥̦̳̹̱͓̙t̷̶̡̛̬̲̱͙̥͍̮̆ͣ͑͆̃̍̒̉h̅ͭͯ̈̒̀͐͑̎͏̨̗̠̗̣̗͟o̶͙̮͉̦̜̥̪͖̝̮̙̎̈́̏ͩ͆̕ͅu̴̡͕̱̩̪͔̯̺̦̰̺̣̩̩̹͉̺͂̾̓̇̉̎̎̊̍ͬg̓͛̔҉̢̯̱͉̦̻̥̗̯͉̳͖͠͡ͅḫ͇͇̘̹̠͎͍̙͓̮̼̫̝͍̰̹̝ͩ̾̽ͩͫ̔̍̅ͧ͌ͩ̕ ̷̿ͣ̉̅̍͐ͮͩ̊ͮ͂̂̀̒͒ͦ̍͢͏̸̪̯̦̭͇͈̙̖̰̹̣̞̰͙̖̪̯̰͡ͅĨ̶̷̷̭̘͉͕͓͈̱̯̳̤̤̮͑̓̈ͬ̄̓͂͌̊̀̾̍̚͝ͅ ̢̤͇̹̜̫͉̺͙͈͇̬̥̟̙̮͈͕̓́ͮ͑ͣ̏͛̇͢͡ͅͅá̧̩͚̰̱͋͌̿̇̋̀̈́̍̔̔ͥ͑͒̆̂̂͟͡mͥ̆͊ͬ̈ͬ̿̈́͛̄̔ͧ̇͡҉̶̧̨͔̩͈̹ ̂̄ͫ̈͗ͩ̂͌̑̋ͩͪ͆̎̆ͩͣ͌ͯ҉͚̥̘̬̻̟̰̮̮̩̝̫͉̗̺̳͍͚o͑ͣ͒ͨ̈͒̅ͣ̋ͥͮ̎͢҉̖͕̩̦u̻̭͉̩̩̘̳̰͖̥͖̠̩ͩͤ̽̔̾̽̏t̑̄͆ͧ̾̐̌̎͐͐̒̏̍҉͏̴̜͉̞̭͎͇ ͎̳̟̦͇̯͈̗͚͖͎͖̜ͣ̉̓͒ͫͦ̾ͩ̓̌͠͠f̛̞̖̤͉͎̘̳͍̜̝̪̳̦̔ͨ̈ͯ̄̉̅ͣ̒̊ͨ̒a̡ͩ̾ͭ͛̓ͤ̍ͯ̚͝҉̦͇̥̭̙r̞̰̯͚͚̺̣͚̭̣͙̜͑ͯ͂̍͋̾̀̆ͭ͜ ͖̹̗̬͕̬ͪ̂ͦͪ͛̏ͩͤͪ̕͜͜i̷̵̛̼̼̥͕ͭ̑͗ͬ̐͊̚̕n̸̡̯̝̦̝̯͍̟̞̣̭͕̬̞̭͙̮̖̣̰ͨ͗͒̊̏͑ͦͧ̐ͮ̆ͨ̿͘͢͞ ̋̓ͭ̈́̉̒҉͏͔̗͚̝̬t͔͎̯̥̦̹͍͉̗͖͉̙̙̫̉̽̏̄̏͋̾͆ͨͩͬͬ̇͝h̸̨͈͇̱͓̮̞̜͖͎͈͕̬̥͑̓̏͂͋̎̓̊ͦ͋ͣ͑ͩ̑̓e̵̯̺̳͖͓̹̟̽̿̐̓̇̆̑̓̾̑̐͋ͤ̃̇̿͒͡ͅ ̸̝̣͖̻͓̮̝̝̻̾̔̐̒ͬ͘͝c̵̴̮͎͈͇̱̮͎̞̻̙̰̭̝̘͚̉̒̔ͦͤ̏ͣͣ̌̎̚͟e̿͑̏̇̉͒͊ͬ̑̉͂͐̽ͧ͏͇̬̬̭̤̥̳͍͘n̵̴̛̩̳̠̩͈̜̺͖̭̞͉͉̬͔͚̹̹̯̓̓ͥ̍͒͊ͩ́̆̒ṫ̶͂̅̒ͨ̈ͩͯ̕̕҉̘̥̹̪̙̣̫ͅͅȅ̸̵̛͓̘̣̰̣ͬ̽̓̏̿̓ͦ͗̋͜͡r̸̷̠̙͙͖͎̪͇̫̠͚̹̣͕̞̱͖̗̉ͯ̋̃̾͠ ̙̦̤̝̭̞̝̣̤̦͌ͥͣͪ̎̂̓̈́̃ͧ͒ͤ͑̓͂͑́̂ǫ̶̴̫͍̘͚͙͖͔̺̯̻̦̱̝̯͖͈ͣ̀̓ͧ̎ͯ̓̍̊̽ͣ̅ͨ̉̎͑ͭͧ͑̕͢ͅf̵̺͈̻̳͖̹̞̣̼̹̩̺̫̪̜͚͖̆ͥ͑̔͐̐̐͆͟͠͠ͅ ̷̨̯͍͙̺̠̤̣̮̄͗̈͐̆ͥͯ͌͊͑͛ͯ̒ͥ͛͋̏͞ͅt̷̷̢̡̛̠̻̦̠̭̟̰̫͔̞͖̪̆̽̿̉ͣ͂ͅh̵ͬ̇̑ͫ͆̃ͮ̈́̔̎́̑҉҉̴͈͖͇̞̦̫͚͇̳̬̤̖͇ẹ̰̜͉͙̟̘͍͍͔̞̹̣͌̈ͣ̐͜ͅ ̨̨̛͖̩̰̲̬̬̤͈̻͉͓̋̎ͣ̑͛̍̀̔͗̀͘͠e̸̡̻͓͕̹̻̦̪̖̲̫͙̭̟͛̈ͮͯ̒͛̋ͦ̿͛͑͜x̡̭̰̞̜ͤ͆ͥ̓͑̕͢p̛̜͕͇͖͈̭̮̣̲̫͇͕̝̮̥͚̱̥̭͛͑̄ͩ͌͝ą̡̠̠̱͇̗͙̲̤͈̞̺̯̌̽͋ͤ͆͟͞n̎̊̅̔ͬͨͤͥͩͫ̽̃͐̓̆ͧ͋̒͂͝͡͏̟̗̙̹s̡͔͓̤̝̏̅́̀i̧̙̜̹͉͙̞̤̬̦͎͇̱͉̻̫̬̝̾̽͊ͫ͗̕͞͠͞v̷̸̲͔̣̠̩̖̹͍̼͇̺͔̙̞̼̳̬̠̍ͣ̓ͣ͊̃͋͐͐̓ͣͧ͑͘͠e̐͋̅ͪͬͮ͡͏͇̹͓̖̦̖̬͟ ̵̸̥̻̖͎̰͇̞̱̻̗̲͔͓̞̙̖̮̈́ͣ̊́̓̏ͭͨ̚̕͠ͅȍ̵̢͑ͪ̓ͥ̌ͭ͋͆͐͋̚͡͏̠̺̯̯̰̮͚̭̯̰̲̞̤͙̞̱̦͕c̛̱̣̩̳̼͈̻̪͉̱̰̖̱̻̰̜͓̓ͭͯͯ̃̏̅ͩ̈́̽̾ͦ́ͪͥ̑͗̽̚̕͠ͅȩ̸̺̰̭͇̬͉̭̻̝̹͉̩͔͈̳̣͚ͬͧ̌̓͑ͤ́͗̕͝a̸̜̝̰̝̦̹͎ͯ͊ͩ̽͛̌̈́͘͘n̺̘̦͈̠̫͇͂̏̋͌̈́ͦ̍̑͌̐̑̃͜͠͡,̧̡̟͓̤̰̘̥̠̣͎͙̔̉͋̀͟͞ ̸̷̯̘̹̞̬͙͎̱̬̘͙ͪ̓͐̓͒ͧ̓͂f̨͍̞̖͓̼̰̺̱̩̫̝̲̣̙͌͆ͥ̾ͣ͗͂͋ͫ͘̕͟l̦͔͍͉̝͔͚̬̃̏ͩ͌̓ͤͭ̒̍̽̽̈́͟͡ơ̶̳͖͖͕͉̿͌ͥ̽ͨ̕͝͝a̡͉̞̺̘̜͉̣͉̲̹̦̖̣ͬͤ̆ͪͧ̄͂̿̄̄͗͛̍͆ͩ͑̕t̴̆͐̃̌̏͒ͯ̃͆͑͗ͨ̅̋ͯ̃͆̔͞҉̴̹͈̯͎̱̯͍̹̬̦ȉ̵̶ͪͮ̅ͣ̉ͭ̚҉̟̱̠̱̘͈̭̮̗̻̙̘͍̤ņ̸̺͇̼͖̟̹̜̫̱͙̭̻̟̺̖̞̗͂ͫ̊ͯ͠ͅͅg̷̨͋̒͗̀͋ͭͤͫ̐҉͓̜̮̲̮̱̳̟̗̰̭͖̭̲̮̱͢ͅ ̵̴͖͙̳̗̞̪̟̜͔̭͍̳͔̼̜ͮͩ̇͐̋ͦ̐̋̈́͐͋͊̾̑̓͛̓̃͟t̸̾̊̐̋ͪ͛͂̓̂͐ͬ͏̵̼̣̖͕͖̹̦̤̪̮h̘̺͇̯̻̯̻̙̰̟̲ͤ̌ͮ̚̕͡ͅe̶͕͙̥͚̟̫̣͎̭͈̥̦͎̋̽ͥ́ͦ̇̌ͤ̽̅͗͢r̶̺̟̱͇̙̥̝͚͊͒̓̈ͅͅe̷̵͑̿ͦ̂͏͕͕̯̬̜͇̟̯͓̤̹̼̭̣͞͞,̧̧̛̝̦̠͕̗̟̻̊̃̾͢ ̺̥̭̝̥͇̪̬̘̠̜̟̥̩͓̞̣͇̓͛͂ͯ͆̐͋̓̅ͪ̎ͬͨ̒͊ͤ͒ͬ͘͠w̸͖̼̦̟̖̹̩̥͎̯̩̠̪̾̔̌̋ͦ̒ͣ͒̎ͯ͛̓ͤ͂͆̚̕͟͠a̶̢̫̗͉̞̜̗͕̻̽ͦ͆̉͢i̸̢̮͔͍̠̹̋̅́̈̑ͩ̂͟t̨̩̣̱̞̙̻̲̳̋͛̀̍͊̓̋ͯ̈́ͣ̽͌̕i͛̊͂̓́̓̽̑̈̓ͪͪͯ̐ͥ̔҉̢͍͔̖͎̖̘͓͉͔͟͢n̡̛̆̽ͪ̆͛̏ͬ̆̓̿͐̍̄̂̇̒̿̑͆҉͔̼̘̮̮̺ģ̤͓̻͍̗͔̬͙̭̗̣͙͇̗̝̗̬̺̒̿̐̍̂͑̔ͯͩͨ̓̌ͯ͌̌̂̏ͣ͘ ̡̢̱̝̱̹̳͍͕̞͉̠̟̘̖͊́ͫ͋̏́̌ͧͭ̚͟͡f̶̭͓͚̩͒̇̊ͤͩ͒̽͒̐̄ͪ̚͟o̵̶̥̠̞̺̼̻̪̝͙̘̙̬̪͍ͣ̅ͣͯ̊ͧ̑̽̌͛ͭͭ̋͑͘͘͞r̛̙̜̰̱͔͐̿̿ͩ͐͊ͩ́͘͝ ̸̵̫̝̬̣͎͚̫̜̜̯̩̯̭̼͈͖̔͑̽̓͂ͯ̃͐̑̂ͮ͐ͣ̓̈͐͋̚m̢̙͕͔̦̬̼͔̄ͧ̊ͤ̒̌̄ͣͬͬ̃̉̊͊͂͢͠y̨̢̗̬̜̫̖̱̾͊̂̐͛̀̑ͯ̌ͩͭ̀̽̎ͫ̌͠s̨̤͉̬̗͍̩̙̜͔͖̼͓͈̪̖̦͈ͨͫͥͧ͗ͦͭͣ̃̄͛͛͐̅ͧ̿̋̽̚͝ĕ͍̼͙̙͖̩̰̮̭̤̗͖̤̞ͮͯ͛́ͥͥͧ̊̋̾ͮͧ̕͟͞l̷̵͚̺͎̱͐̓̏̎̈̃ͨ̄̆̿ͪ̆̋͛̚f̷̥͉̟̦̱̝̳̗̞̙̻̪͖̱̱͎̗̟̔ͮ̒̈́ͮ̈͗ͨ̒̿́̐́̏ͧͯ̚ ̹̜͙̺̥ͪ͆͊̆̾̋͋̍̓͌ͮͨ͟ͅt̢̤̟̲͍̖͖̪̞̬̟̫̻̙̠̘̒̔͆̈́̾̿̋̔̿ͧ̔ͧͮͦ̎͢͟͢ͅo̸̧͍̲̫̬͕͈͇͇̜͖͆̇͊ͨͣ̀̄̏͋̍ͯ͞ ̷̦̮̩̘̗͖̩̤̺͇̣͉̻͓̞̔̈́ͭ̄͐͂ͦ̿̒ͪ̏͌͠ͅf͖̠͙͙͔̙̫͉̭͙͙͓͍̠͍͖̬̱ͯ̎̿͒̍̃̎̔͞i̸̧̊̋ͩͬ̓̂̿͏̶̼̞̠͔̗̻̯̦̝̫͈ͅn̷̶ͪͭ̐̆͌ͬ̉̈̐̅̃̐҉̴͈̩̤͓̭͓̣d̴̬̯̤͖̖̲̻̳̳̔̆͒͒ͭ́̄͋̽̿͆́̽͋ͩ̉ͨͭ͟͞ ̿́̇̋ͣ́̐̍͒ͥ̿̄̋̊̆̇͗͏͏̴̨҉͚͇̜̝m̴̮̝̫̦̜̳̲̟̝̞̻̤̜̞͚̿͋̍̒̊ͫ̿̾̏ͮͧ̕ͅeͤ͂̓͐ͬ̀̄̽͞͏̥͚̗͈͔̜̫̝͎̟̫͚̜̹͉̰͎͟͢.̋ͣ͌̑̂͛̆ͣ̐̍͋̆ͨ̚͞͝͝͏̩͖͎͎̼̦̟͎͔̜̜̮ͅ ̛̒ͣ̆̐ͥ̑͐͆ͣͣ͏̯͉̲͠ͅB̸̢̯͕̼̤̗͕̘̬̖̰̓ͨ̋̇͛͒̈͂̑̚̚͞ư̛̘̰̻̭͚͓̘̫̺̩̤̠͖̳̊̀́͒ͫ͐ͥ̑̐͐̉͊͑ͤ̔͘t̷͉̖̫̥̯̼͍̱͉̳̣̠̹ͥͤ̐ͥ̃̒̔̉̐ͦ̏ͧ̽̍͗͑̌̉͡ ̡̢̑̅͋́ͤ̍̿ͯ̐̓̇ͧ̓҉̦̙̝̜͘͜ͅͅw͊̌ͥ̌ͯ̏ͥ̐̿ͤ҉̞̖̠͖͇̰̫̩̻͚͕̖̘͘͜͝h̵̛͔̳̪͍̖͚̜͇̗̻͔͓̝͓̪̮͎̟̥͑͌̊ͤͩͬ̾̿ͥͧ̉̅̇͠e̶͓̮̪̝̦͙͈̯͈͉̘̹͇̰̳̋̂̐̿̂͜n̙̻̫̫͎̱̤̫͙̫̳̳͍̺͍̩̖̈́̐ͣ͌̈́̈́͛̇̂ͣ́ͩ́͂̓͛͝ ̇ͯͮͪͩ͋͂̈́ͬ͊̈́͏̷͈̞͕͙͎̬͓̘̬I͓̖̼̣̹̖̯̣̼̲͎͊̉ͯ̂̐͑̍̚̕͜͡͝ͅ ̸͉͕̼͙̯̳̩̞̮̻̳̺̯͔͚͒̇̅ͧͦ̽̕͢ͅg̡̳̤͓̭̟̪̯̘͇͔̞̦̹͎̟̋̊̆̓̎̕͜͠͡o̧͈̲̹͚̻̮̬ͣͥ́͂̂̃ͨͭͭ́̈́͌͒̒̇͌͘͝ͅͅ,̸̛͇̳̠̖͇͓͍̱̲͓͙̠̪͓̎̽̒̓͊̕ͅ ̶̸̶̲̲͍̯͎̙̮̙͇̜͍͕̌̑̎͌a̷͈̳̥͎͉̯̼̯͈̪͈̖͓̓͗̂͆̏͒̓̍̿ͯͨ̿l̡͙̙͉͍͓̪͖͕̈́͋͆ͤͫ͂͋͐̕ͅl̵ͧ̈͋ͮ́̊̋͋͐͑ͤ̂ͧ͏̴̷̖̠̗͙̣̬͉̬̗̠̹͖̲̮̺͡ ̡̛̼͚̣̳̉̌̈́̇͋͒ͮͧ̐͊́ͬ͐͗̔̌͑͞Ȉ̷̫̖̞̲̖͎̘̖̱͉͕̜̟̱̟͉͙̹̿͋̃ͯͯ̃̀ͭ̒͂ͦ̍̎̽ͣ̍̃͝ ̭̙̬̬ͬ̃ͯ̿ͩ̎̈́̂ͥ̚ͅs̶̡͙͔̤͍̘͍̓͛ͤͨ͟ě̸̴̛̝͚̥̞͇̲͉͚̆̾ͩͪ͑͊̐͗̈́̔̎͋͑͟͡ȩ̵̦͈̬͙̘͉͔̯͇̪̫͉̬̭̤̣̔͑ͤ̂̾̇̋ͩ̊̏ͬ̿̌̏̌̕ ̴̴͍̱͚͚̩͇̺͖̫̬̖ͮ́̾̿̋̕ͅi̷̶̧ͯͫ͑̌ͯ̇ͧ̓̽҉̠̦̝͓͈͍̘̬̣̳͝ͅs̶̯͇̫͔̫̤̙̱̯̰̳̤͍̙͈̍ͭ̽́ͬͥ̎͋̂̉ͯ̉͟͟ ̧̗͓͓͖͍̜̫̦̱̞̻̝̟̖̩̹̅̉̐̓͋̽̒ͮ̆ͯ̈͘͡w̢̭͚͓̼̪̥̩͇̟͋ͧ̐̀ͮ̑̇̍ͪ̂̀ͨ̓ͦ͑̊͜͜å̫̻̬̉ͪ̂ͨ̃̊̚t͔̙̯̭͖͔̭͙̻̜͕ͩ̒̅ͤ̃̀̉͡͡ḛ̵̵̺̟̰̗͇̞̬̗͍̪̞̗̥̰̞ͬͯ̾ͬ̂́͗ͬ̅ͫͭ̃ͣͬ́̕͢r̠̖̻͋͋ͦ̃̇͠ͅ.̨̲̪͔͎̩̳̬́̉̅ͫ̔̂͑̐ͬ̒ͪ̾̔̈̔ͨ͝ ̸̨̛̬̱̱͍̹̻͍͉͈̳͔̪̦͆ͮ̌̈͝ͅI͐ͮͯ̐ͩ̈́̿͒͒̚҉҉̵̟̙̳̗̜̳̹͍̲̗͎͇͕'̜͙̘̞̞̫͇̬̫͓̩̲̟̝̟̤͙̄ͦ̅͆̉̊̕͟m̧͚͉͔͎̞͖͍̣͓̼̠̺̰̣̥̝̲̳̗ͣͪ͐ͯ́͋ͬ̓̅̎̚ ̷̠̼̝̥̞̣̠̜̳͎̻̤̀̅̇ͦͦ̍ͥͭ̿̑̋͒ͧͮ͡l̨̧̛̝͇̻̮̹̲͈̮ͨ̽̆̄͛ͫͨͪ͐̒͌̕o̶̟̲̘̥̜̭͉̮̥͂̎̈ͧͨͩͮͬ̌͡nͨ̋̉̉̒̍ͤ̄̎̈́̊҉̴̧͇̰͓̩̰̲̲̫̩̩̦̕͢ͅe̛͈̠͓͈̻̭̼̦̓̈́ͬ͑ͫ̿ͮ́̎͗ͮ̚͘͡ļ̲̹͕͙̖ͥ̒ͣ̄ͣ̋͊͊̋͗͑͠y̺͉͎͓̖̓̽̄̏͑́͞ͅ.̷̃̉̏͛͆ͭ̓͋̚͘͜͏̬͉̤͖̻͉̩̜̣̱̖̗̘͉̙ͅ ̴̋̔̅̈́ͦͪ̐̀̋̿̐̄͜͏҉̤̥̼̝̬͖͚̱̳̰̳̺̞͈̠̦̦A̷̖̠͖̻̘̦̭̠̯̮͔̯̥͇ͧ͋͂̈ͪ͐ͭ̑̋̅̓̐̋͢n̻̱̼͕̯͖͖͚͚͕̯͔̪̱̲̙̍̅̈̓̋̄̐̏̀̋ͤ̆̐d̓͋̎ͤ̉ͮ́҉̴̧҉̹̜̤̼̯̖̪̥̼͓ ̴̵̡͇̼̥̰͓͊ͮͩͯ̃̈ͪ̉͟͡Į̬̠͎̱̋ͯͯ͐͊̅̆̄ͩ̓ͨͫ͛̏ͩ̋ͪ̂͘'̶̸̳̼̻̪͓̱̘͍̜̣͙̣̜͈͓͇͈͓̀̆ͪm̷̉ͨ̊͊ͥͯ҉̳͈͍̬̖̲͉ ̶̔̆͌̀̉̄ͤͬ͏͉̲͙̦̯̲̫̙͈̱̖l̺̭̠̤̤͛̾ͤ͂̽͗͐̒̀̓͋̋͜͡o̸̷̗̣̺͈̙͚̦͓͖͓̤̦̥͙͐̒̉̈̉̀ͯ͜ͅn̶̮͇̘̰̮ͭͤ̋̀ͨ͛ͣ̌̇͂͋ͦe̞̜̣͉̰̻̳̮̳̦̝ͨ̇̉ͮ̈́ͣ͌ͨ̓̉͒l̜̪̯͎̣̲͕͛̽͌̇̊ͩ̃̈̇ͫ̾ͫ̄ͤͭ͐̕͜͝ÿ̛̯̺̳͕̗̰̫̺̬͖̪̦̣͈̭̣̖̺ͧ̔̊̒̈ͣ͊͐̈́͠͠ ͓̤̖̪̞͔̪͇̈͌ͧ̅̉̈́ͥͬ̑͛̽̈́͞i̸̝͚͈̤̣̾͂̓ͦͮ͌͌̄ͭ͆͗͂͋̔ͦ͡n̑̿̏͗ͩ҉̻̰̝̻̝̥̜͔̲̞̩͞ͅ ̡̭̲̜͉̦̘͍̘̮͕̲̮ͫ̈́ͩ̿̀̏̽͆̊̉̉͐̔͋s̶̏̋̋̐ͧ̈ͮ̋̊͜͝҉͙̺̥̪̼̼̥̦̗̥̳̜̠̖õ̷̱̝̲̼͚̞͍̩̳̳͖̠̠͖͓̟̃̎ͪͤ̊̔̈́͗̅̈́͋̆̈́͆͢͝m̡̛̻͔͓̲ͪ͌ͯ̍̔̊ͬ͛̀̒ͫ̌͂̚͝e̴̝͖͎̰̥͚͇̫͍̞͙͛̌͂̐̕ ̸̸̘̠͎̥͚̮̼͔ͦ̅͊̆ͯ̇͘h̵̛͇͉͕̦̳̮̦͓͚̥̼͎̞̙̯̬ͣ͑ͧͤͪͫ͗ͤͭ͊͘ô̷̭̗̲̻͉̱͕̩̙̭̰̞̹͈̥̥̼͍̿͛͂̋͂͛ͪ̉̾ͩ͋ͫ͌͗ͦ̄̚̚͘ͅŗ̮̣̠͛ͣ̿ͨ̍͌͟ͅr̞̫̞͉̞͉̃ͮ̋͗͌ͬ͐̊̔̎ͤ̓ͅi̶͎̝͖͈̣̅̀̎̐ͧ͋ͧͬͫͮ͛̈́ͣ̋̽̽ͪ͋͞ͅb̶̶̛̓̂͛͌͋̌͡҉͇̞̣̜̫̫̜ḽ̶̶̡͓͖̞̺̦̖͚ͣ͌͌̊̑ͭͪͫ̑̃ͭ̊̆̊ͮͧͬ̊͐̕y̖̱̠̘̼̳̮͖͈̫̭̱̲̞͓͓̲̥͊̂͒͊ͨͤ ̶̨̖̯̻̠̙̥̀ͣ̋̍͗̉̉̾̏ͮ̃͑̔̂̑ͮͯ̌d̢̲̱̦̳̙̳̩͍̊̆̽̔͊̓̈͑ͯͧ̈̈͌̑̀̆́̓̕ͅȩ̷̶̹̮̝̱̺͚͖̞̖̯̹͖̯̖͊ͧ͋ͭ̓͂̎̅͒̃͊̊̀ͨ̔̃̚͠eͧ͒̚҉̵̠̥̼̹̙͕̬͕̰̘͜ͅp̷̡̛̓͗͆ͨ̓̐͆͒҉͍̠͙͚̰͎̱͠ ̸̡̹͕̙͙͍̖͚̝̙ͪͪ̍͆ͨ͌̎͆̓̏̾͊ͮ̔̚͘w̛̘̜̩̼͎̲̦̐ͥ̅̇̋̈́̆̽ͨͥ͑̐̕a̶̰̺̲̲͕͙̳͍͔̲̺͕̞̠̮̤͉̘͋̃̄ͮ̐͆ͭ̎́̍̐̿ͭ̅̊͌͞͠y̛͖̯͈͍̥͔̗̤̣̥̠̩̝̜̮̖̲ͥ́̓̂̿̌̓ͩ̂͐̂̔͞ͅ ̷̋̎̋ͯ̀ͥ͛͊̈́ͫ̈́͐̂͊͑ͣ̂̈҉̞̮̲̻̗̠͎͢͝a̸̢̢͔̩̣̮͍͕͇̼͎̼̲̙̠̥ͣ́̇ͦ̓̋ͨ̚͢n̸̈́ͣ͗̏̂͒͌ͨ̓̈́̃ͪ͠͠͏̨̗̠̰̥̦ḏ̨̧͓̪̞̩̳̘̠̫ͦ̊̒̚ ̵̵̡͓̱̘̣͍̺̉̈͐ͧ̍̄ͥ͊̊̎͑̅̐͋̈́͊̿̚͜͡f̷̧͎̟̖̦̻͉̻̰͔̠̼͔̉̐̔̊̈́̌͊͌̔́̑̾̎̔̚̚̕͢͝ͅo̟̰̞̖̟̪̝̗̼͖̅̇͗̏ͮ͌̂ͤͮͭͯ͛̒̇̄ͫ̅͟͞r̸̻̜̠̙̳̞̙̰̥̬͓̓͗̒̇ͥͩͦ̂̑̔̐̅͐̐͟ͅ ̀̒̌ͦ͘͏҉̞̠͖̖̣̼͖̖̫̤̭͚̼a̿ͫͯͫ̎͑ͣ͌̅͏̟̺̤̮̝̥̮͖͓̝͞ͅ ̯̯͔̣̗̼͚̣͍̜̩̭̝̉͊̇̈́̄ͪ͐ͩ͘̕f̸ͪ̽ͧ̎ͤ̂͏̹̥̠͚̼̮̞̺͇̙̪̣̯̝̲̗ļ̸̢̹̣͉̹̱̤̠̤̀̈ͣ̿͋̀̎̒̊̕͢a̸̢͚̙̭̫̖̬̻̺̘͎͎̭͙̫̣͍̭̩͂ͯ͋̌͑͌̒ͮ̔̌̄͟s̵̶ͤ͋̾ͩ̓̎̃͊̏́̿̄̊ͭ͂̌ͨ̀͟҉̖̘̗̙̠̦̥̖̟̬̤̝̱̫̝̪ͅhͭ̄̾ͮ̏ͯ̇̽ͬ͋̓̃ͭ͆̉҉̸̡̪͔̺̭̝̙̬̩̘͖̺̩̕͜ͅͅ ̨̧̛̓ͪ̈̓ͯ̈҉̖͓̮̯̜̦͚̲̥̗̥̝ở̩̩̫̗̺̪͓͍̫̺̬̻̤̱ͤ̌ͯͧ̒̓̎̊̓͘͜f͇̝̰̘̦͚͉̼̥̝̙̏̐͒͂ͨ͆̔ͯ̈ͧ̈̀ͨ̍̕͘ ̸̡̣̗͇̠̳͑̋̓́̆͞͠a̵̢̱̣̮̩͇̰̪̰͉̺͗͒̎ͨ̒͌ͥ̀͘n̢̢̬͓̩͈͇̪̭͍̣ͬ͐͌ͨ̅̀̓̉͑͒̌͗͒͑͆͟͟ ̯̦̳͇̩͎̬͉̯̣̑̄̉̂ͮ͘͢͞ͅȉ͖̬̼̲̬̮̪̺̝̭̲̬̬ͫ̾̾̈́̾̓̾ͦ̈͂̃͂̏̏̃̑͟͢ň̛ͦͯ̄ͯ̑̂̆͛͘҉̢͚̟̝̼͎̤̬͚͉̮̣sͨ̑̄̽ͣ̓͂ͦ̍̾ͬ͒̔͝҉̸̠̺̺̺̼̭̭̬͎͇̳͚̩͖͎͘͟t̶̅͋ͮ̉̈́̈́ͧ͌̉ͩͤͦ̽͒̂҉̵͎̲̱̺̙a̵̡̧͈͙̗̭ͮ̐ͪͮ͌͆́͌̾ͣ̆͆͛ͧ̽̍ͩn̥̱̩̞̼̩̤͕̗̻̗͇͔̯ͯ̈́ͯ̍̊ͩ̾̇̄͢ͅt̴͉̣͓̼̗̠̪̼̞͐ͮ́ͯ͋ͤ̕,̝̗͓̞͓͍̘̬̘̎̒ͩ̋̔̍̋͊͑͆̚͘͟ͅ ̵͈̺͇̜͙̰̥̟͚̥̬̠̜̬̗̭͈ͮ͗͗͌̾͌ͨͨ̿̒͐ͥ̉̚͜ͅIͬ̊ͣ̊̐̃ͧͨ͋ͣ̊ͬ̿ͦ̐̽҉͡҉̝̝̬̯̹͕̳̼̠̤̲͉̖ ̰̦̲̼͕̲̬̥͎͓̞̖̤̺͎̍̔̌͒ͧ͐͆̅̊͂̇͂ͬ͐͊ͨ̃̚͘͜͠c̶̽̔ͧ̆̇ͭ̔̓͜҉̗̙̟͔̻̫͇̭̹a̧̛̦̜̰͖͔̞̩̜͚̰̬̭̖̋̇̔ͭ̃̍ͮ̑̽͗̇̐̑͛̚̕͜ń̶́ͩ̀ͥͪ̓̇̑̽̓͌͆̿҉̷̴̨̖̭̼͓͇̦̣̯͎͍̩̖̭ ̷̜͍̩͖͍͚ͫ̊͊̎̌̐̀̉̀̓ͬ̔̕s͗̿̿̐̔͐̒̈́͒ͤͮ̉̐ͬ̄͆̚͏̨̧̱͕͕͙̺͟͝e̵̛͇̙͉͙̜͉̩̣̼̘̋ͭ̅̏ͪ̄́̃ͩ͐͢ę̴̹̱̲̠̭͂ͫ̅̓̊̌̀̆̑ͫͫͪ͆ͫ̕͢ ͭ͊͊̐ͪͤ͘͡͏̰̜͍̠͙̙͉͍͇͕̗̻̳̣̻j̴̧̙̹̗͖̤͈̱̳̻̖͔̹̅̓̃̓́̒̍ͮ̈͛ͤ̊̈ͪȕ̸̬̞̼̺̦̻̥̼̹̜͇̠͚̝͔̺̇̄͛̈͆͊̾̏ͬͅs̗̰̘̩̲̀ͮ̊̅̑̾̉ͥ͊̅̑̇̀͌̾ͤͬ͘t̍͐̃͐͛̊̍̎̾̈́̐͏̡̞̤̦̲͉̼̯̬͚̟̱̱͙̭̗̰̕͢ ̸͎͚̺̻͓̙̬̤̪̺͉̠̫͕̫̼̜̝̓̇ͤ̍̄ͭͬͭ̌̔̏ͯ̈́͜͟h̴̛̹̠̙͊ͪ̀̏̔̈́͆̐͂̎ͫͨͩ͘o̤̰͔̯̤͖̦̱͔͇̯̩̪̟̹͂̆̾̈͆̾̌̑ͮͣ̎ͣ̈͒͌̕͞ͅẅ̷̧̤̭̜̜̮̥̹̳̙̯͚͓̬͔̭ͮ̐ͯ͒ͨͫ̒̓̋̔̚͜ ̸̳̙̖̙̉̏͐̍̏͋ͮ͘͜l̴̫̮̰͓̮̭̜̜̿͛ͫͯ̆o̸̠̼̮̥̯̦̫̹̲͖̳͍̘͉̩̳̥̎͊ͣ͒̐̑͗͐̎̕n̨̳̥͈̙ͧ́͑̔͌̐ͩ̆̉̒ë̵̳̝̻̙͍̖͓̘̤͚͎̬̠̤̱̝́̽͆͒͛͑͛̌͠l̓ͪ͑͗ͥͣͣ͑ͧ̊́̃͆͂͑̚̚͏̸̡̱͖͉̣͚̝͜ͅy̵̭̩̝̻͔ͧ̏́ͫͤͪͯ͌͒̓̉̽̌̽̚͟͢͢.̧̡̝̮̠̣̟̹̬̑ͩ̽̿̔͑̀͒ ̓ͤͧ̚̕͏̖̯̥͖͚̼̲̙̗̝̫̻I̷̴̬̞̤͚̜͈̊ͨ̂͌ͤ̇̋ͩ̎͌ ̈̇̐ͧ̃̀̎͆ͣ̂ͯ́̄͏̴͓͕͔͚̯͕̭̭̹͎͉͉͇̤̺̭͢b̷̧̲͖͕͇͆ͧ̀̽̾ͤͮ̑̔̿͒̌̇ͯ̕͡ͅṟ̷̶̵̨͔͉̭ͫ̆̐̄̍̇ͣͮ̂ͬȩ̴̸̶̸͍̩͕̳̼̭̳͙͔̙̺̤̗̯̦̹͉̘͈ͬ̉̂ͤ̏̇ä͖̳̘̩̫͈͈͈̻̟̩̳̖͇̰̮͈͔́ͣ̓͂̈̅͑̀̏̈ͭͪͫ͗̇͝͝ț̸̡̩͔̣͓͖̭͉̭̖̭͔̣ͮ̍̑͒̈́̉ͮ̅ͤ͐̈͐͜h̷͕̺̣̺̦̣̹̮͓̦̞̫̫͇̲̑ͥ̐̃ͪ͛́ͯ̽̄ͣ͗̾̇̅̊̈́̚̕͡eͤ̆ͪ͐ͯ̍́̆̒̌̎͐̀҉̸̛̮̤̣̗͉̫̰̱̺̼̥̗͉ ̢̝̖̬̫̗̫̥͍̜̲̙̩̹̄̽ͯ̆̒̍͌̕͜ͅlͧ͒̿̎̅͛͆̈̀̅̈́͋̽̾ͪͤ͏̸̧̛̺̲̩͚̤̰͚̬̥̘̗̱̞ͅi̵̴̇̿̈́͐͆̋ͥ͂ͬͯ͂̐͂ͮ̾͒̕͡͏̪̼͍̮̩̯̝̘͓̞̞̭͈̜̱͉ͅķ̢̩̰͓̣͈͎͍̱̩͍̫͇̰̱͔̠̑͋̈́̎e̵̡̲͇̬̰̟͈̪ͯͭͪ́͆ͥ̑͛̉̅ͬ̐ͣ̿ͦ̍ͪ͜͠ ̢͕̜͖̦̣̼͚͓͇̮͙͉̘̅̅̀̑ͦͫ̍ͥͭͮ̊̂ͨ͋̑́͟t̡̛̞̪͖̠̦̳͗͌ͩ̍̃ͭͦ͒͘͝hͣ̈́͌̑ͬͯͤ́ͥͯ̌͑̊̚҉͉̫͚͇̮̠̠̠̕̕e̵̡̞̠͚̙͎̱̰̜̤͙̘̹̗͍̺̹ͬ͊ͨͫ͊r̷̵͍͍̼̞̹̥͈̭͚̳̫͎̣̆̑͐ͧ̑ͫͪ͗͡ë̤̗̣̭͚́ͭ̐̆̒͗͒ͭ̊ͩ̀̋ͩͫ̑̎̊͜͢ͅ ̶̸̣͎̠̱̺̳͕͚̻̳͓̠̠͎͎͍͕͋ͣͪ̂͑͆͐ͅą̴̲̫̬̺̬͈̮̰̻̘̟̫̰͉͉̩̳̪̑ͭ̇ͣ̎̏ͨͅr̸̴̛̙̙̮̦͔̗̳̠ͤ̓̂̄̍ͭ̃ͪ̽͑̏̍̽̅ͧ̑̽͋ͅȩ̫̳̗̝͎̹̺̭̟̠ͣ̈̾̏̏ͪ̃͞͡ ̨̫̪̱̣̗̘̳͇͑ͥ͆̍̾͌̒͒̿͑͋͊̾͝ţ̸̛̥͈̱̼͉͙̣̮̞̳̱͇̹̙̬̤̫̝ͦͤͣ́̅̚ͅẖ̴̢̧͖̥̖̲̗̘̟̦̱͎͎ͣ̇ͦ̑̆͐̓ͦͥ͒̅̃̆ͬͮ͂̽ͩò̵͇͚̱̥͔̝͖̪̣̠͎̩̣̞̔ͭͩ͆̎ͮ̎ͫ̉ͯ̇̽̊͛̔ͧ̄ͮ̕͘͠r̸̶͖͈̺̟͖͉͖͚̬̱͔̺̯̻͈͎̗͕ͣ̽̓̉̆͐͘n̶̽̒̅͆͗̽ͫ͟͏͎̘̤͓͔͠s̨ͮ̀́͌͑̍̿҉̢̦̼̫͈͖̘̪̳ ̨̡̲̘͓͇̝̙̩̬̟̘̰̍́ͧ̾̎͆̈́ͣ̅͛ͧ̇ͫͨỉ́̔ͥ̈́ͨͨ̄̎ͧ̂̄̽͌͂҉̸̪̼̝̭̦͇̖͕̮͖̦̭͜ͅͅͅn̵̛̞̮̦̬͕̟̮̗̳̗̯̗ͦͤͫ͂ͭ̿̿̀ͪͪ̚ ̶̢̻͕̠͕͉̺͇̺͇͙̥̺̃͗͐ͣ̂ͫ̚͘͞͝ͅm̸̴̝̥̫̥̮̤̳̘̦͍̥̩͈͖̉ͯ͂̄̈͜y̨̬̪̞̩͊̋̉̀ͣ̋̄ͩ͞ ̵̴̴̡͊̂̂ͩ̀́̂͌̓̅̍ͨͥ͂͊͆͊͗҉̦̬̩̤̟̮͈̹̘̜̼̱̦̩̟̖̮ͅl̡̛̘̜̲͙̦̯̥͇̞̲͌̆͆͋̅̎ͦ̊ͩ̐̀ͧͫ͞u͆̔͊ͧ̚̚͡҉̻̪̳͕͉̳̖͜͠nͩ̓̋ͯ̽̈ͤ͌ͤ̅̓͏͏̷̫̫͚̯̣̥̺̖͎g͚̤̝̪̯͉͕̹̫̗̲̦̊̉ͭ̉̄ͭͅs̷͆̀̓̋͟͞҉̫͚͔̥̮.ͫ͒ͧͨ͌̒ͤ҉̛̙̲̯̙͙̤ ͉̠̪̥̥̇̉͑ͦͥ͛̑̏͊̀ͩ̽͊̄̈ͦ̋̓̚͘͟H̢̨̝͚̩̳̹͇̑ͣ̄̍̅ͩͬ͌͌ͤ̈͌̏ͪ̆̾̚͜͡e̔̽͋ͯ̍̇̀͘͏̶͇̤͕͇̜͚̳̹̻̠̘̲͍̱̪̙͖ͅͅl͊̔̌ͧ̒ͣͨ͋ͦ͏̷̝͈̭̳̹̘͇̖̲͎̤lͨ̏ͤ̔́̉̇͋ͫ̏͐ͦ͞͏̞͇̼̱̤͍͖͖̩̯̘͍̺̟o̷̡̨̡͇͎̫̥ͥ̊ͣ́ͩ̽ͪ̃̏͟ͅ?̵̗͚̺̗̠̝̼͎͑̈ͭ̒͊̃ͯ̿̄̏̎̈̽̚ ̶̨͙͕̼̭͔̞̙͓̖̣̜̠̃ͩ͋̑̅͜͠C̴̙̺̪̪̝̗͙̳͖̰̘ͨ̆ͥͫͫͩ̊̑ͣͨ̎̌̇̇̊̿̆͒́ą̶̠͇̫̙̖̣̻̭͚̥͙̫̬̲̥͎̰̆̿̀̄͑͂ͮ̔̆̔̔̾̅͞n̷̡̘͉͕͚̼̱̮͇̠͇̜̙͓̪͙̈́ͪ̓̿ͫ̅̿̐ͦͦ̒ͯ̋̇̾ͬ̿̀̈́ ̷̹̬̟̭̺͎̗͔̩̰͈̼͇̩̠͖̭̾ͣͪ̂ͮ̈́͗̾̅ͨͬ̒͝y̷̡̧̗̬̫̪̿̓̂͒͋͊̅ͯͬͅō̷̢͙͇̬̣͖̖̙̭̙̥̼̹̖̲̜̦̪̓ͯͪͣ̓̍͆͠ͅͅü̶̘̱͔͇̩̦͚̗͖͇̮͈͙̖ͯ͂ͫ̀ͨ̋̅ͫ̉̿ͤ̊̊̌̏̌͘͝ ̒͌̾ͤ̈́̓͛͂ͨ͒͌ͤ͂̓̍҉̶̰͕̬̦̼ḩ̛ͩ͗ͦ͗ͫͧͮ̍̉̂ͭ͑̏̉ͯ҉̨̤͕̗̫̱è̵̴̴̙̦͓̼̞̭̫̳͔͓̙̝͖͂̓̇ͪ̋̑̈͐ͭ̀͐ͫ̒̉͒ͅă̴̯̣̬̟̹̘̫̮̤͔̰͇̪͙̘͖̤͔̤̏̅̈ͭͦ̂̓ͫ͘͜͡r̡̨̛̹̱̭̮̲͎̫̪̠̪̦̫̲͚̙͂͗̋̇͂̾͊̐ͨͅͅ ̇̓̎ͣ̂̓͊̒͊̓ͨͧͧ͟͡҉̦͓̱̞̼̤̰̟̠̜̪͉̱̫̱̫̦͟m̸̧̬͓͎̲̬͈̮̖͇͕̖̣̬̭͙̘̺̤͔͆͆͐͗ͫ̋͜͝eͭ̌ͫͯ̈̄̂̑͆̍̃ͬ͆̓̃͐ͣ̌͏̯̼͙̫͈̖̘̖̫͕̳̫͢?̸̴̢̥̼͙̞̗̠̻̗̗͙̰̞̠̪̩̠͑ͧ̐̓͂̓͗̐͛̏̊͆̅̋̂̏͜ͅ ̡̨̪̯̗̭̯̼̦̯͍̪̝̲̂̀̽ͩ͆ͣ͑̊̔̔͌͘͘͘ͅD̨̨̨͔̝̰͔̘̩̹̠̯̝̥̤̻͈͕̦͉̓́͗͂͐ͨͤͣͥͅo̡̧̼͔͍̦̓̄ͭ̽̎ͣ̎ͫ̈͊̏ͪͦ̓̚͝ ̵̡͇̗̣̞ͩ̀ͤͅy̢̘̠͓̫̼͋́̆̒ͦ̏̋͐͗ͯͫͦ͂̄̉̕͜͢o̸̡̝͚̟̼͎̬̰͇͈̠͇̍̊̎̍̈̎̋̿͊͐ͩͪ͌̐̈ͅͅu̵̲̻̟̝̩̤̙̱͉͙̭͇̰ͦ̉͆̈̎̊ͧ̓͐̏̐̔ͯ͑ͤ̍ ̵̡̛̱̮̜̩̬͉͎̗̲̦̟̮͆̂ͨ̅ͨ͠ͅḻ̷̡̧̥͈̤̱̗̩̰͎͍͖͎̯͖͓̜̼̈́ͮͯͯ́͌͆͑̏o̶̶̧̭͖̞̬͓̣̰̲̞̲̻̬̗͎͌ͩ͛ͪ̚ͅv̭͙͙̫͕͔͉̙̩̱̹̖͌̈́͋ͫ̐̊̂͢͢e̗͖̟͚̺̯̺̞̟̻͂͋͆͛̌͑͂̓̑̾̅͜͡ͅ ̶̡̧̰̣͈̘̬̪̮͉̬͔̬̳͙͍͓̭̀̇ͧͦ̊͗͘ͅm̵̫̩̦̭̓̿ͬ͋̑̚͡e̢͕̰̮̦̻̰ͤ͂̿̆̎̅̈̿̚͞?ͤ̉̂̓ͪ̉ͫͨ̾̃̚͏̢̞̤̭̠̺ ̍̋̓ͮ̊̋͋̀̋̽̍̋́̆̾͂͆̆҉̛̱̬̪̹͎̘͖̳̩̕Ṯ̢̫̤͙̻̬̲̳͉̬̩̼̞͕̣̣͉̯̼̇̈̅ͦ̀͗͛ͣ̅̋͋͂̏͂ͫͫ̀͟͟͢e̜̜͍̪̮̫͇͇̲̰̤͇͕̞̼̖̔̒̃̂ͣ̔͗̿͛͊̾́͋ͧ͛̕͞l̨̧̹̣̗͔͇̔̓ͭͯ͋ͣͮ̽͊̌̾̆ͭͧ̍̿̊͞ḻ̴̨̝̭̞̖̺͔̙͈̰̟̳̝̲̫̟ͮ̈́ͮͮͧͦ͆̎̒̉̂ͧ͐ͫ̂̃̋̈ͨ ̴̶̸̨̪̝̜̠͈͗͌̑̈̂̓ͥͪ̈̏ͣͧ̆ͅm̵̶̢̝͇̺͎͙̖͋̏̓ͦͫ̉̐̌ͫ́̓͆͛̎̋̓͛e̘͇̯͉̥̹͇͖̳̮̩̙̣͇̞͇̮̓̒͆̐̍̽̃͒͒̄̽̽ͪ̅̉ͥ̐͝ͅ ̡̩͇̞̖͖̙̠̦̙̼ͯ̓͛ͬͮͨ̇ͦͯ̽̎ͧͦ̚yͦ̋͆ͤ͑͐ͪ̈́ͥ͑̓̃̄͊ͮͮ̄҉̴̢͉̖̠͔̥̞̟̙̱̕͠o̷͍͎̼̮̮̘͙͍̠̟̞̽̋͑̔͐ͦ̓̋ͥ͞u̵̹̯̗͔͓̻ͬ̓̔̾ͭͫ͘͟͡ ̽̎̊ͪͤͣ̑̇ͬ͊͊͐̿̂ͮͮͣ͑̄͘͏͚̹̬͚̯̤̼̲̮̼̯͍̻ͅͅl̉ͧ͑̀̓ͮ̂͏̡̱̠̟̞͍̘̝̕ơ͚̪̼̮͎̪̖̦̹̩͕̻̱̊̓͗͑̐̀ͭ́͋ͦ͑͒ͩ͋̏̎ͫ͌ͤ͡͞v̷̖̳̯̠͍̯̙̪͊̌̉ͪ̅̑͊ͥ̿̃͞é̛̫̦͙͕̲̪̺̹̲̠̖͖̹̆ͪ̎̃ͤͥͫ̇͐͠͝ͅ ̡̖̩̼̤͖̤͈̳̫̼͖̣̪̙̜̘̟͓̞̄ͣ̀̃̏̒̊͂ͥͫ̍̋͋ͧ̽͟͡m̬͓̮̮̘̤̘̦͈͈̼̻̪̘͓̭͙̆̔̇̀ͣ̈́ͦ̔̋͂̕ͅę̾ͫͧ̊̌͆̈̔͂̿̒͑ͤ̓ͦ͒͆̂̚͜҉͙͍̜͙̪̟̝̰͖̫̫̠͖̦͔͎.̡̛͙͚͓̖̩͎̜̿ͫͥ͛̇ͭ̌̅ͫ̿͌ͣͦ̆̔͠ ̸̝̯̱͈̆̽̓̑̐͠͝G̶̴̨͙̩̰͓̪͉͉̫̳̣͓͎͋̈́ͩ̈͋ͧͦ̓ͫͬͪ̊͑́͘o̴̡̧̠̩̟̯̙̦̞ͦ̓͋ͯ̄̐̆ͭ͒͂̔͞ͅdͪ͌̅ͥ͟͝͏̡̙̞̜͚̝̭̯͈̥͓͓͖̹̮̗̪ͅ,̸̗̪͈̤̻̜̳̥̟̞̰͔̀͑̏̋̃͐̊ͮ̇̃̽̈́ͪͭ̋ͬ͘͜ ̷̡̑́͐ͩͧͫ̒ͯ͛̋ͣ̒̏ͩ̈́ͫ͏̝̫̘̖̹̠͎͟I̸̷̡̛̥͉͎͍̩̝̹̰̻̊̿́ͮ̋̎̋̌̋̊͒͌̌ͬ̄̚̚͝ͅ ͍̠̤͍͔̗̭̻̦̺̰̟̬̭̫ͪ͌̀̅̃͘͟͡ͅt̹̟̙̟̹̹ͫͮ̂̎̂ͮ̚͘͜ẖ̶̜̬̭̰̝̱̩̘̱͈͓̺̩̲͔̹̊̋͂ͯ̇͆͆͗̿ͣͭ͌ͣ̽̆̄̚͘ͅi̢̡̨͖̪̥̱̦̳͆̄ͦ̌͂ͤ̿ͮͧ̌ͪͨͯ̂̈ͨ͝n̛̖̟̹͙̩̖ͤ̽̋ͧ̊̃̅̿͆͋ͪ͛̆̎́̓͐͌̎͘͜k̷̇̆̌̅̋ͥ̂ͣͨ̒͏͏̥̼̳͈̼̘͚̞͈ ̸ͮ́̏͂̎̅͊ͮͬͭ̽̈́̚͜͏̡̩̯͇̯̘ͅͅǏ̴̗̩̩͙̙̐̆ͯ͋̂̏̽ͩ̃͢͝͠’̵̧͖͈̻̰̰͒ͧͮͣͥͥ̌̽ͯ̄ͦ͂͜l̛̯͉̱̥̭̤̯̜̻͔͓͓͛̀̄̃̑̌́̆ͯ̋̽̒̈ͦl̳͉̭̙̩̒̉ͮ̇̓̾ͪ̔̓̎̉͋̿ͫ̓̾͐ͨ̚͘ ̸̛͎͙̬͍͈̲̮̬̦̈́ͪ͌̎̀̒̿̉ͧ̐͋̆̈ͤͤ̌͜͝d̴̨̢̛͉͖͖̙̩̼͓͎̲̣̱̯̗̞̼̹͕ͭ̂̃͗̒̇͡i̴͓̯͉̯̯͖͐̇̽͒ě̶̵ͮͧ̔̂͋̑̒͏͕̟͓̲ ̸̬̤̟̣͔̮̦̻͐͊͑ͣͧ̾̕í̧̧͇̜̤̫̝̭͕̠͖͎̫̜͕̻͎̳͍̭͕ͥ̇̿̑́͒ͮ͒ͤf̡͙͍͈̭̽͂̉̾̉̃̑́̂̐͐́̓̀͐̾̄̃ͤ͡ ̋̆̋͛ͬ̿ͬ͛̉͋̾̑ͨ̾̋ͣ̏҉͍̗̻̩̟͕̥̫̼̻̬̪̳̖̹̠̜͝ͅy̨̡̢̥͙̝̳͒ͫ́ͫ̿̾̍̈̑͂̒̄̎͞oͫ̌ͥͧ͐̿͗ͣͦ͟͏҉̷̙̥̤͕̺ͅu̷̡̳͔̱̰̣͚̪̯̫͍̙̞̳̬ͣ̓̔͋̾ͧ̔̐͑̐ͯ̀̍ͤ͋͗̔ͥ̋ͅͅ ̴̧͙̘̘̝̭̟̟͉̰͗ͪ͋ͦ̆͒̽ͦ̔̇͆̂̅͛̄̆ͩ̈́͢͢͝ḍ̫̠͎͈̦̫͈͌́̎ͯ͌ͪ̈́̃̾̆͟͞ͅō̥͇̲͍̠͇̠̝̰̭̠̟̞̞͆̉̇̌́͆ͣͮ̅̈ͥ̀͌͟͠͠n̵̡̛̙̼̣̫͕͖̦͛ͥ͂̇̍͞ͅ’̴͈̩͖͓̹͇̘̼͙̠̱͔̫͚̯̰̟ͫ͐͂͛̄ͧͧ̾ͯ̍̒̇ͩͮͯ͋̚̕͟͢ͅt̴̛̯͇̜̯͓͈̪͖͎͋̓́̆͊̿̚͝͞ͅ.̡͉͖̻̯̟͆̒͂͡͝ͅͅ ̿̋ͤ̅̈̃̅͆ͥͫ͂̊̆ͪ̊̀ͥ̓̚҉̷̦͎̱̜̦̬̟̩͝ͅ

“How does it feel, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol has a phone to his ear and a cigar between his fingers. “To have me thinking about you?”

 

Jeonghan’s laughs. He's probably lounging in bed at home, gold rings decorating his fingers, probably has a pretty escort asleep next to him on Seungcheol’s satin sheets. He's got Seungcheol’s favorite sonata blasting on their surround sound speakers, there's a clink of a wine glass and a champagne bottle.

 

“I got our sheets dirty.” Jeonghan’s voice is only slightly slurred. “Haven't been fucked this good in a while.”

 

So Seungcheol was right about the escort. He blows a smoke ring absently, watching grey wisps form and disappear in front of his eyes, the smell of nicotine and smoke spreads around his office. He can’t find it in him to be offended by his husbands words.

 

“I think you could take some tips from this guy,” Jeonghan continues.

 

“Is that so?” Seungcheol props his feet up on his desk.

 

“I asked him ‘do you fuck or get fucked’ and he said he’d do both for no extra charge.”

 

“What a bargain.”

 

“He kissed me. Took me by complete surprise.”

 

“How thoughtful of him.”

 

Another clink of a wine glass.

 

“You’ll come home tonight? I miss you.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

~

 

“Oh? Welcome home, sweetheart.” Jeonghan twirls up to him, the trail of his sky blue robe gliding behind him.

 

They kiss briefly.

 

“Didn't want to keep my beautiful husband waiting for too long.” Seungcheol hums.

 

He tastes heavily of champagne. The good kind they used to reserve only for special occasions. Jeonghan’s started drinking it everyday now.

 

“Is that callboy still in my bed?” Seungcheol asks, peeling off his blazer.

 

Jeonghan laughs, pulling Seungcheol by the arm down the hall. They pass big portraits, one of Jeonghan sitting out in their garden, dressed in a knit sweater, Seungcheol stands by him in a red button down, hands in pockets, they're both smiling softly. The second portrait is a headshot of Jeonghan in a sharp suit, a sweet white boutonniere peeking out of his breast pocket, his hair is tied back, this was around the time he started growing it out, so fly aways and strands hang loosely around his cheekbones. Next to that is an almost identical headshot of Seungcheol, no boutonniere in sight however, piercings decorating his ears, his dark circles look _terrible_ , that was around the time his insomnia was triggered, before he found ways to cope with it.

 

Well,

 

It's not like he does much to cope with it even now.

 

The third portrait is of them two sitting together in their lounge, knees awkwardly touching. Jeonghan may have dropped 10 pounds from when this picture was taken in comparison to the last. Hollow cheeks, small lips. This was around the time the happiness left his eyes, and although he's smiling brilliantly, as he always has, there's a sadness to it. His hair is much longer, left down, beautifully curling right below his shoulders. Seungcheol had dyed his own hair starkly black around that time. For this picture he styled it up stiffly, he isn't smiling for this one. Odd, considering they always smile around each other. His dark circles look uglier. This was before Jisoo suggested trying out concealer to him.

 

“You should see him.” Jeonghan tells him gleefully. “He's sleeping with ass up high in the air.”

 

As they enter the bedroom, Seungcheol snorts. The prostitute is lying on his stomach, ass slightly elevated, poking out of the comforter for whatever reason. Jeonghan goes to the bedside, pouring glittery pink champagne into a glass and taking a small sip before offering the glass to Seungcheol.

 

Seungcheol takes the glass, eyes staying on the cum stains tainting the sheets. It makes him angry for some reason. Jeonghan pours himself a glass with a sigh, smile gone completely, replaced with a strange expression of shame he seems to be trying to hide.

 

Seungcheol takes a sip. Tart rose extract spreads over his tongue, smooth as it goes down his throat, lighting a small fire in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Get him out.” He says.

 

Jeonghan turns to Seungcheol confusedly, pushing his long silky hair out of his face. It almost reaches his elbows now, is dyed an earthy auburn.

 

He's so beautiful.

 

“Get him out of my bed.” Seungcheol doesn't want pink champagne.

 

“Your bed?” Jeonghan mouths.

 

The escort in the bed stirs. Seungcheol pities and envies him at the same time. He goes to the side of the bed, pouring his drink over the guys exposed ass. He jolts, swearing loudly as he sits up. He sees Seungcheol and his eyebrows scrunch.

 

“Rest well, son?” Seungcheol asks simply.

 

“Y-yes sir.” He glances between Jeonghan and Seungcheol nervously.

 

“Get going then.”

 

Seungcheol can imagination that his voice must leave no room for negotiation from the way the boy practically leaps out of bed and dogs wildly for his clothes. That or the escort must realize that the estranged husband of the man he just slept with is home to see the mess that's been created.

 

“You don't love me.” Jeonghans voice is curt.

 

Seungcheol waits until the third person is dressed and out of the room before replying.

 

“I love you so much. More than anyone.” It's true.

 

“No.” Jeonghan takes a big gulp of his drink to hide how his voice shakes. “You don't love me. You don't kiss me.”

 

“I do.” This is also true.

 

To prove it, Seungcheol steps forward, coming into Jeonghans yielding lips long and languid. It feels so empty, but Jeonghans lips are familiar. Although they curve down into a crude frown as tears slide down his face, they are all for Seungcheol. He may kiss as many escorts as he wishes, but it will never feel like this.

 

Jeonghan knows.

 

“You don't kiss me.” He repeats as Seungcheol steps back.

 

Seungcheol swigs his empty glass, mulling over the words on his tongue before speaking.

 

“You don't kiss _me_.”

 

It's true. Jeonghan knows it. But for some reason, it sparks outrage in him. He whips his glass at Seungcheol so hard that it breaks upon hitting his cheek, champagne falling on his suit and the floor like a cascade. He's bleeding probably but it doesn't matter because Jeonghan looks so _sad_.

 

“Oh, baby. What've you done?” Seungcheol mumbles, letting his own champagne glass crash onto the floor, brushing shards off himself. They cut his fingers. He comes forward to embrace Jeonghan, suede boots crunching over the shattered glass. Jeonghan wraps his arms around Seungcheols waist immediately, resting his head on his shoulder. He's barefoot, Seungcheol absently notes.

 

“I kiss you.” Jeonghan insists. “Everyday.”

 

“No you don't, love.” Seungcheol runs his hands through Jeonghans hair, ignoring how Jeonghan flinches when his fingers catch in knots.

 

Jeonghan pulls back to look at him with shiny eyes, hands coming up to his cheeks, thumbing over where he's bleeding down his jaw.

 

They kiss again, hard, like they're trying to salvage something out of it.

 

~

 

“Come on Jeonghannie, spread those legs nice and wide for me.”

 

Jeonghan obliges, thighs covered in pink streaks, slowly parting, hanging on his sides, held up only by tense hip flexors. Seungcheol slowly slides in and out, reveling in the denial he's causing the both of them

 

Seungcheol curls his palm around Jeonghans throat and squeezes. Jeonghan gasps, eyes fluttering closed.

 

“You filthy cunt.”

 

Jeonghan whimpers.

 

“Hm?” Seungcheol thrusts again. “Do you like it when I call you a cunt?”

 

Jeonghan arches off the bed, hands fisted into the satin sheets covered in someone else's semen by his head, legs coming to wrap around Seungcheols hips.

 

Seungcheol pinches Jeonghans nipple, tightening his hold on Jeonghans throat.

 

“That prostitute call you a cunt, Jeonghan?” He leans forward, pushing Jeonghans knees to keep his legs spread.

 

Jeonghans face is red, tears seeping out of his eyes, he's clenching around Seungcheol. He let's out a guttural moan, shaking his head slightly.

 

Seungcheol slaps him hard. He whines, face turning from the impact.

 

Seungcheol moans as Jeonghan tightens around him, chest rising and falling slowly at the restricted airflow.

Seeing Jeonghan all nice and pretty and laid out for him, vulnerable for him, just for him, it feels really good. Even though Seungcheols face is still bleeding from that damn glass and Jeonghans now bruised up in all sorts of places.

 

Seungcheol thrusts slowly, watching with hungry eyes the effect it has on Jeonghan, contemplating spitting on him. He loves this shit. Loves getting his haired yanked, loves being called all sorts of names. No one knows that but Seungcheol.

 

Jeonghans fingers come up to where Seungcheol has his hand on his throat, fruitlessly trying to loosen his grip. Seungcheol tightens instead and watches pretty crystal like tears pool over Jeonghans eyes.

 

“S-Seungch-cheol…” Spit starts drooling down his chin.

 

“Yes, Jeonghan.”

 

His phone starts ringing at that.

 

“Fuck.” He straightens up, removing his hands and pulling out to straighten up his pants that have pooled around his knees and dig out his phone. Jeonghan coughs and hacks, a hand shakily reaching out to grab Seungcheols.

 

“What?” They interlock fingers.

 

“The proposed figures attached to the China agenda are flying off ever since the stocks drop. Doyoon suggested cutting training budget costs but I wanted to run it by you first.”

 

“Oh...lit.” Seungcheol removes his hand from his husbands grasp and pumps his length a few times, absolutely relishing in how Jeonghan mewls at the long awaited contact.

 

“Seungcheol, these are _your_ investments.”

 

Jeonghan goes to stroke himself over Seungcheols fingers, gulping down whatever moan that action seems to pull out of him.

 

“Do what you see fit.”

 

Seungcheol sighs and ends the call without waiting for a reply. He staggers off the bed and straightens his shirt out.

 

Jeonghan looks at him questioningly. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, skin glistening, face flushed, a mark forming on his cheekbone where Seungcheol slapped him. He's so stunning. Seungcheol seems to note this a thousand times everyday.

 

“I'm gonna take a shower.” He tells Jeonghan.

 

“Aren't we gonna finish?” Jeonghans eyes travel down to where Seungcheol is still hard.

 

“Call that rentboy back. I'm sure he’ll help you finish.” Seungcheol starts unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring that aching heat.

 

Jeonghan seems to have gone silent at that. Seungcheol chances a glance at him after taking his shirt off. He's lying back down, hands covering his face, but the wobble of his lips and the tremble in his shoulders doesn't go unnoticed.

 

Seungcheol sighs.

 

“Sweetheart-”

 

“You hate me.” Jeonghan stammers.

 

A pause. Neither of them fall for it.  

 

“You hate me enough to cheat on me, don’t you?” Seungcheol pulls off his undershirt, now edging off his pants.

 

“Because I didn’t have anything else to do.” Jeonghan almost shines in the darkness of their room, tears rolling down his face like glitter.

 

Seungcheol wonders where he finds all that emotion. He hasn't felt anything in awhile.

 

“Which one of us is at fault then?”

 

The room is deafening silence. Not even the sheets on the bed seem to know the answer.

 

“You want to finish?” He asks. “That's it?”

 

Jeonghan glares at him but nods.

 

“Finish up, then. I'll walk you through it.”

 

Jeonghan starts to say something but Seungcheol interrupts.

 

“Come on.” He says a bit forcefully. “Choke yourself nice and hard just like I do it.”

 

Jeonghan hesitates before gulping and bringing one hand to his throat. A smirk tickles the edges of Seungcheols lips.

 

“Wow, Jeonghan.” He goes down to his own throbbing dick. “You must've really missed me.”

 

Jeonghans face flushes and and he brings his other hand around his cock, caressing the tip carefully, body on its own bucking into his hand. He's making it more of a show than it needs to be by arching, mouth hanging open provocatively, legs coming together to quench some of that heat and then shakily spreading apart to let the air conditioning hit it. Seungcheol bites his lip, head lulling to the side in pleasure.

 

“What are you, Jeonghan?” He asks softly.

 

Jeonghan gulps.

 

“A filthy c-cunt.”

 

Seungcheol loves how Jeonghans tongue lingers on his words, how his hands seems to work more feverishly due to that revelation.

 

“Who's cunt are you?”

 

“Yours.” Jeonghan gasps out, coming in long strips.

 

He milks it, half for show, half because this shit does actually turn him on. Seungcheol watches him, no longer choking himself, but with his hand fisted into the sheets, as he forces out whatever's left of his orgasm with his other fist.

 

Seungcheol doesn't give him time to recover from his orgasm, he slips out of their bedroom and into a guest room, the one Jihoon usually stays in when he's in town, and steps into the shower, turning the heat high enough to just barely scald his skin and finishes up there.

 

~

 

Jeonghan's eyes stay on the pill bottles Seungcheol has set on his tray of breakfast a beat longer than they should. Long enough that Seungcheol, for a fleeting moment, wonders if he should spend a day home.

 

He stops doing his tie and sits on the edge of the bed, looks at blue light that shines in through shut curtains casting a dreamy shadow over Jeonghans expression. He looks ragged, with puffy tired eyes, faint marks around his throat, a large bruise on his cheek bone, dry lips, flat knotted hair, Seungcheols heart would skip a beat if it could. The tray in Jeonghan's lap is heaped with a mug of plain black coffee, some raspberry sorbet, a kimchi omelette, all of which are Jeonghans favorite breakfast items, and a bottle of painkillers, and prescription Analgesic. Seungcheol, as always, managed to sleep for an hour at most last night, fitfully at that, he figured he might make breakfast for his husband while he was up.

 

Jeonghan gives Seungcheol a bright smile. Seungcheol reaches out and gingerly touches the bruising on Jeonghan's cheek, pretending he doesn't notice how Jeonghan's smile falters. He presses on his cheekbone lightly. Jeonghan flinches. Seungcheol removes his hand.

 

“I’ll get you some ice.”

 

Jeonghan picks up his sorbet and digs his spoon into it with shaking hands, halting Seungcheol from standing up, a frown fighting to take over the smile on his face. He raises the spoon to Seungcheols lips.

 

Seungcheol shakes his head.

 

“Stay home today, please.” It's just a simple weightless request.

 

Seungcheol figures he should honor it. He tucks Jeonghans hair behind his ear.

 

“I should probably go see Jisoo about what he called for yesterday.”

 

“You should've taken your sleep meds last night.” Jeonghan shoves a large spoonful of sorbet in his mouth and swallows without tasting it. “You look tired.”

 

“It didn't cross my mind.” Seungcheol shrugs. “I'll be fine.”

 

“Come home early and get some sleep at least.” Jeonghan says concerned. “Don't push yourself so much.”

 

Seungcheol straightens out his shirt, making a mental note to make some sort of effort to see his husband tonight, even if it may be just to fall asleep the second he gets there.

 

~

 

“Welcome, boss. Let’s harvest these blessings.”

 

Seungcheol doesn't answer the man snooping through his papers.

 

Doyoon straightens up, brushing Seungcheols hair out of his face as Seungcheol yawns.

 

“Jeonghan giving you trouble again?”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t answer.

 

“That Jeonghan.” Doyoon tuts as Seungcheol falls into his seat. “You should divorce him and have his dead body thrown in a ditch.”

 

Seungcheols mouth twitches.

 

“Mm, didn't like that image, did you?” Doyoon hums, tracing his finger over the cut on Seungcheols cheek. “What's this?”

 

“Jisoo told me you wanted to cut training budgets.” Seungcheol says, looking up at the glass ceiling.

 

His own face looks back, condemning him with tired _tired_ dark circles, hair shaggy and messy because he just can't be bothered to comb through it anymore, his wedding ring twinkles in the morning sunlight that washes into the room. Doyoons mop of hair is standing next to him, shoulders as relaxed as ever, one hand on Seungcheols seat, the other on his hip.

 

He hate̫̪͇̦ș̴͚͉͈ h̼̞̦͈̳i̢͚̖̝̬͍m̭͎̘͖.

 

“Yeah.” He clicks his tongue. At least he has the decency to pull back when appropriate. “That CJem rep is coming today to talk to me about splitting shares. I thought it would be a good precautionary move.”

 

Wouldn't have asked for a better CFO.”

 

“I try.”

 

“That dinner with Amorepacific is tomorrow, isn't it?” Seungcheol rubs his face, so tired, cursing himself for not taking a sleep aid last night.

 

“Bring Jeonghan.” Doyoon pats Seungcheols shoulder and turns to go. “Have him wear something that's easy to take off.”

 

“Good one, Doyoon.” Seungcheol breathes out, leaning his head back and closing his burning eyes.  

 

Doyoon cackles and the door closes.

 

Seungcheols hands on their own dig his iPhone out of his pocket as the image of Jeonghan dead in a ditch sends terrible chills up his spine.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, love. How are you feeling?”

 

A pause. Confused. Of course. Why would Seungcheol call just two hours after leaving the house. Seungcheol pushes aside the documents on his desk that demand his attention.

 

“Better.”

 

“That's good.”

 

“Are...are you at work?”

 

“Yeah. Don't have anything to do.”

 

“Is that why you're calling?”

 

“I was missing you.”

 

There's a full minute of silence at that. Jisoo comes in and places Seungcheols espresso on the desk with a pretty smile.

 

“I-I was going to go out in the garden.” Jeonghan says.

 

“That sounds nice.” Seungcheol sips his espresso, knowing it won't do much to wake him instead just give him terrible jitters. “You've made it really beautiful, planting all those flowers.”

 

That garden really is so wonderful. Seungcheol always finds himself there when he's home.

 

“I have all this time.” Jeonghan laughs a little sadly. “No one to spend it with.”

 

Seungcheol inhales sharply, in pain, like he felt the prick and sting of a vaccination.

 

“Might as well plant some flowers.” He comments. “They look fantastic.”

 

“They do, don't they?” Jeonghan giggles, not as sadly.

 

Seungcheol closes his burning eyes and pictures Jeonghan sitting in the grey gazebo of their garden, underneath magnificent magnolia trees surrounded by azaleas to the left, buttercups near the ground, camellias and dahlias on the right, and tons and tons of forget me nots sprinkled everywhere. He's loved forget me nots ever since that day him and Seungcheol were lazing in the garden on their 1 year anniversary, when Jeonghan was just starting his garden out, and Seungcheol had plucked two forget me nots from that very first batch, placing one behind his own ear and sticking the other in Jeonghans short hair.

 

The image steps on a pedestal and crushes the image of Jeonghan dead in a ditch.

 

“Do you think I should plant some new flowers?” Jeonghan asks. “Maybe some orchids?”

 

“Orchids.” Seungcheol repeats slowly. “I'll bring some on the way home for you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Another long pause. Jeonghan inhales to speak.

 

“I l-love you. Don't over exert yourself.”

 

Seungcheol gulps.

 

“Love you too.”

 

Seungcheol ends the call, feeling a little exhausted, a different type of exhaustion than his sleepless tiredness. Jeonghan pulls so much out of him just by existing and Seungcheol gives and gives and it sucks him dry.

 

Doyoon toddles back into the room with some papers. Seungcheol watches him read them with a concentrated expression. He never felt any of that with Doyoon. Or anyone for that matter.

 

Around 10 pm, the day ends as dull as it started. The chairman of Amorepacific sends Seungcheol a new belt from the unreleased fast fashion line the company plans to launch in the next year.

 

Seungcheol leaves it at the office, settling into his Audi before pulling up his phone to google the phone number of that flower boutique that clienteles Jeonghan and places an order for 10 bunches of orchids and _make it quick because I'm on my way now._

 

“Mr Yoon! Welcome!” Seungcheol recognizes this jolly man as the owner that invited Jeonghan and him to his daughters wedding.

 

He reeks of jasmine and wet soil.

 

“The orchids?” Seungcheol asks as he shakes his hand with a bow.

 

“Yes! All ready for you.” The man smiles even wider. “I’ll have them dispensed on a delivery truck and sent to your estate.”

 

“Thank you.” Seungcheol smiles. He looks around the boutique.

 

Flowers are organized like the colors of the rainbow. Reds on one side, going all the way to purples on the other. Warm light hums at their leaves. Galaxies twinkle outside the big windows. Of course, this is just the display. The real shit happens in the back.  

 

“How about a bouquet of forget-me-nots?” Seungcheol asks.

 

“Of course!”

 

~

 

Seungcheol comes home to an unknown pair of shoes in front of the door and a quiet house, with just an opened bottle of champagne and two half empty glasses on the dining table. All the lights are on but no one seems to be home.

 

He leaves the bouquet in the kitchen and goes to spend some time in his study.

 

~

 

“Do I look okay?” Seungcheol stretches his arms out and spins in front of Jeonghan.

 

Tonight is a concealer-caked-under-his-eyes night because there will be cameras. Dozens. Seungcheol and the chairman of AmorePacific will be closing a deal to have Seungcheols label endorse AmorePacifics baby beauty line in exchange for 30% of revenue. Jihoon will perform his latest digital hit before a private dinner. Seungcheol is wearing a nice all black suit, black tie, black wingtip oxfords, hair set in wavy curls, swooped up and into a side part. He reeks of Maison Francis.

 

“Beautiful.” Jeonghan says blankly, without looking up.

 

He's sitting on the ottoman of their master closet with his hands folded on his lap. Dressed in an almost matching black suit but with the top few buttons undone, and he opted to not wear a tie, instead his neck is decorated by a simple black choker that artistically loops twice around the marks left by Seungcheols fingers.

 

Seungcheol walks up to him and kneels in front of him. Jeonghans nose crinkles, of course, he hates perfume. His hair is soft and pretty pulled into a low bun. The stylist combed some weird gloss into his hair before spraying it in place. Seungcheol had at first questioned it but now seeing light particles reflecting in his locks, making Jeonghan look more ethereal than he already does, it makes sense.

 

He does look so sublime. Heart stoppingly so. But Seungcheol can see in his eyes how uncomfortable he feels in a stiff suit, even just thinking about eyes boring into him, dissecting him, oh he loathes it. Why else would he have retired the first chance he got?

 

“Should I come?” Jeonghan asks, as if he's reading Seungcheols mind.

 

“Well, the chairman of Amore invited me to bring you. It'd be rude to decline now.”

 

“I really don't want to go.”

 

Seungcheol sighs at that and touches foreheads with Jeonghan. The action is meant to be calming, reassuring, but it feels tense, it lights a fire on a bomb that had been lying idle between them.

 

“I know you don't. And I wish I could go by myself.” He says. “But you don't like letting me go to these things without you.”

 

“Because you don't come home.” Jeonghan says, yielding a bit to Seungcheols fingers kneading dangerously close to his crotch. “And I miss you.”

 

“And I miss you too.” Seungcheol hums and kisses Jeonghan messily, ruining both their carefully applied lip gloss.

 

“Who else is going to be there besides the chairman?” Jeonghan asks, resting his forehead against Seungcheols again.

 

They stay like that for a minute before Seungcheol rubs his knees and straightens up on the balls of his feet.

 

“Jisoo and Jihoon and some guys from the office...and Doyoon.” He answers.

 

Jeonghan reaches his hand out and touches Seungcheols ear, fingering the two earrings dangling lazily from it, thumbing across his cheek gently, a soft look in his eyes. Seungcheols hands, however, travel to Jeonghans crotch again and Jeonghame leg twitches.

 

“Stop doing that.” Jeonghan wiggles in his seat with a giggle.  

 

“Doing what?” Seungcheol asks innocently and leans forward to kiss his cheek.

 

Jeonghan revels for a moment with a grin, in the way Seungcheol comes down his throat expertly, biting the cord around Jeonghans neck and tugging it tight against his Adam's apple. Jeonghan tilts his head back, mouth hanging open as the airflow in his chest constricts the tiniest amount. His hands come up to Seungcheols hair, trying to not to ruin it as he grips the back of it. Seungcheol stops and travels back up to pepper him with more kisses.

 

“The dinner will be quick, I promise.” He mumbles between kisses. “You won't even realize the whole thing is over until it's over.”

 

“Yeah but…” Jeonghan trails off.

 

“You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to.” Seungcheol tells him, kissing his neck. “Just sit there and look pretty for me.”

 

“Can we come right back home afterwards?” Jeonghan gets out as Seungcheol unbuttons his excessively fitted pants. “Just me and you.”

 

Seungcheol stays silent, kissing all over Jeonghans neck, fingers teasingly touching his ever hardening cock over his briefs. There's a strange ache in the very back of Jeonghans heart at the lack of Seungcheols response. It's so strong, a throbbing longing that sends tears up his spine and into his eyes.

 

“Seungcheol, I l-love you.” He blurts out.

 

“I might have to stop by the office.” Seungcheol answers at that like he didn’t wanna have to let Jeonghan down.

 

“That’s fine. Maybe after-“

 

Seungcheol clears his throat and straightens up to dust nonexistent dust off his pants.

 

“Why?” Jeonghan asks, looking up. “You always do this-”

 

Seungcheol avoids his eyes, adjusting his Rolex. He hates talking about these things. He wishes their marriage was as perfect as it seems to outsiders. The people who don’t see this part of it.

 

“I’m scared of coming home to see what you have in store for me. Every night it's something different.”

 

He's right. Jeonghan takes a deep breath, willing away the pooling heat in his stomach, watching Seungcheols fingers around the leather strap, covered in so many twinkling rings, his wedding ring, a simple gold band that was bought at 18 years old by Jeonghan after they moved in together, is overshadowed, hidden.

 

“You're passed out in the kitchen, you're asleep in bed with someone, you're fucking someone, you're slumped over in the bathroom with the drawer open.” Seungcheol lists. “I never know what to think of that last one, Jeonghan. What you planned on doing with whatever was in the drawer that one night.”

 

Jeonghan had been so drunk. The type of drunk where he wanted to die, if you've ever been drunk like that. He had flicked on the TV and seen a glimpse of their stupid perfect marriage being dissected on an entertainment channel before straightening up and going to the bathroom to open the drawer. He can't remember what he was going to do either. Seungcheol had been away at a business trip in Pakistan. He apparently came home when Jisoo called him a panic. It's a shame that Jisoo is the one who can make Seungcheol come home, not Jeonghan himself.

 

Jeonghan goes to stand up and takes Seungcheols arm upon his offer. His touch feels like lightning. Jeonghan grinds his jaw, suddenly angry.

 

“Kiss me.” He commands.

 

Seungcheol tilts his head and gently pecks Jeonghan on the lips.

 

“Again.”

 

Seungcheol does it again then closes the door behind him as they walk out of the bedroom.

 

Jeonghan hates when they kiss. It tastes like rotting tree bark. Rough and raw and teeming with parasitism. But _oh_ , Jeonghan loves the feeling of Seungcheols lips against his own.

 

“Seungcheol, I love you.” He tries again once they're in the limousine.

 

“Jeonghan, I'm not in the mood for this right now.”

 

Jeonghan smiles brightly anyways and reaches forward to uncap the whiskey in the ice bucket in front of them before pouring it into a glass for Seungcheol. Seungcheol eyes the glass warily before taking it. Jeonghan keeps the bottle with him, sipping by the mouth every now and then. He snuggles next to Seungcheol so that their sides touch and rests his head on his shoulder. Seungcheols lack of response, not even a little kiss or a squeeze of his hand, ignites the whiskey pooling in Jeonghans stomach with spite. He wants to get under Seungcheols skin tonight, make him angry enough to drag Jeonghan home and fuck him into the mattress till he's screaming and come inside him for once. Jeonghan runs his hand up Seungcheols chest, biting his lip thoughtfully.

 

“I'm gonna fuck Doyoon tonight.”

 

“Try that and I'll slit your throat.”

 

Perfect.

 

~

 

“Hows everyones favorite same sex couple? Smile for the camera! Yoons! Smile for the camera, won’t you?”

 

Oh those blinding flashes. One after the other after the other after the other aft̡e͞r͠ t͟h̴e ͡o͘t͡he̢r͜ a̧fter t̸he̕ o̵ther ̴aftęr t̴h̕e o͞t͜h̛er aft̡ę͝r͘͟ ͠t̷҉̧h̨̕e͡ o͟the̴r̛ ̷̕a̴͘ft̶er͢ ҉̧t̵͡h҉͡ȩ҉͘ ̧̧ǫ̷t͠h͜͞er͠ ̶͜af҉̢͟t̸̵er҉ t͢h͡͡e̡͢ ͡o̸͟t͠h̛͠e̡͠r̴ a̕͜f̵̵͟t̶̶͠ę̷ŗ̢ ̷̢͡͡t̢͘h̢͜͟e̸͜ ̨͟͠͝o͞҉t̕͞͠h̛̛͟ȩ҉̧̢͟r̛҉̶҉͞ ̷͝a̶̶̷f͏̵͜t͜ę̛͘͘r̢̨ ͟͞͠t͡͏h̛̕e̷ ̧̡͞o͞t҉h̴e̛͘͞r̶̡͘͢ ͝͞a̷͜͞f̛̛͘͜͞t̴̨͜͠e̛̛͘͠r̷̸̕͜͠ ̧̕͜͠͡t̨͟h͢ȩ ҉̧͘͜͝o̴̢͡͝ţ̵͝h̨͞ȩ̵̵͢r-

 

Seungcheol takes it like a champ, smiling handsomely despite the waxy concealer hiding his anxiety and stress melting off his face here and there. He pulls Jeonghan closer by the small of his waist.

 

“Kiss for the people back home!” Someone shouts and is immediately followed by an encouraging roar from fans.

 

Jeonghan digs his heels into the red carpet.

 

Seungcheol laughs charismatically, before whispering “touch my face”.

 

Jeonghan goes to rest a gentle palm on Seungcheols cheek. They face each other.

 

“Grab my chest.” Seungcheol mouths casually again, eyes twinkling like hes in love for the first time ever.

 

Jeonghan mimics his smile, dragging his hand down Seungcheols neck and over his heart, ignoring the anxious beating that thrums up against his palm.

 

Seungcheol leans in to kiss him and deafening screams erupt, sending an uncomfortable jolt through Jeonghan.

 

Seungcheol leans back as if to end the kiss but mumbles “pull me back.”

 

Jeonghan grabs Seungcheols jaw with both his hands and goes in for another kiss, keeping his eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore how his eardrums are about to pop. Neither kiss feels good.

 

~

 

“Mr.Chairman, if you will?” Jeonghan holds out slender fingers that encircle the Charmans gripping the champagne bottle.

 

“Of course.” The chairman nods.

 

Jeonghan takes the bottle and stands up, taking a few steps back to face the group.

 

“This is a trick I learned just recently.” He starts, tapping the cork of the bottle to minimize the bubbles. “I don't know how well it will work but I do want to entertain you all tonight.”

 

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow. Where on earth is he going with this?

 

“Especially you, Mr.Chairman. I really am so happy you closed the deal with my dearest husband.” Jeonghan then smiles one of _those_ smiles and Seungcheol feels a vein in his forehead begin to throb.

 

The chairman smiles, clearly charmed because Jeonghans charms always work on people just like that.

 

“Seungcheol, sweetheart.” Jeonghan calls him innocently. “You won't mind if I show the chairman this, will you?”

 

Seungcheol stares him down with a small smile, spitting in his face _I dare you._

 

Jeonghan loves a dare.

 

“Don't get too carried away, love.” Seungcheol says softly. “We have to go home after this.”

 

Jeonghan smiles, one of those cunning annoying smiles Seungcheol detests, and licks a gentle stripe across the fair bottle. He's smiling the kind of smile he reserves for when he wants something from Seungcheol and he _knows_ he's gonna get it. Seungcheol falls into his trap. Always has, always will, because that's just what he does.

 

Jeonghan then gently, pulls the cork out of the champagne bottle and sets it on the table. It doesn't fizz it doesn't so much as even bubble. The chairman looks on confusedly.

 

“Seungcheol tells me I'm good with my mouth”. Jeonghan bends forward, pushing his hair out of his face, neck extended gracefully.

 

He closes his lips around the mouth of the bottle. Doyoons eyebrows shoot up and Seungcheol resists the urge to massage his temples in front of everyone because Jeonghan is being a _nuisance_ on purpose tonight because Seungcheol said something _or didn't_ and Jeonghan didn't like it so this is Seungcheols punishment.

 

The bottle begins to fizz, how it does when you shake it before popping it. Jeonghan moans around the bottle, taking it in deeper, batting pretty eyes at the blushing chairman. He bobs his head up and down slowly, trying to go deeper each time.

 

Seungcheol pinches the skin between his thumb and finger, because he fucking hates that look on the chairmans face more than anything. Because what right does he have to look at Jeonghan like that? Because what would possess Jeonghan to make the chairman look at him like that?

 

Joenghan then pulls up off the bottle, his lips making an obscene _pop._ The champagne bubbles out and overflows.

 

The group erupts into applause.

 

“Fantastic mouth you got there, Jeonghan.” Doyoon grins and Jeonghan stutters for a minute because Doyoon is probably the only person on this planet Jeonghan can't enchant.

 

“Thank you.” Jeonghan forces a smile at him.

 

“Quite juvenile.” The chairman comments. “But quite darling.”

 

“I agree.”Seungcheol says it very simply, ironically almost. “ That was very neat, Jeonghan. Do you have any other party tricks to show everyone?”

 

But Jeonghan loves a challenge and he loves to challenge Seungcheol.

 

“I have one more.” He grins and gestures around the table and Seungcheol knows exactly what his next trick is. “But I would need a volunteer from the audience.”

 

Seungcheol takes care to swallow down his anger because he hates being challenged, especially by Jeonghan. He looks around. People are marveled, as Jeonghan always leaves them with a first impression like that. Seungcheols eyes travel to Doyoons crotch and his lips curl in disgust at what he sees.

 

“Would anyone like to volunteer?” Jeonghan asks brightly.

 

Seungcheol expects people to glance at him first. They do. Why wouldn’t they? Seungcheol and Jeonghan are married. Seungcheol puts on a big smile and decides to help his husband out, hell, he takes it 10 steps further.

 

“Whoever goes up there and puts on a good show for the chairman gets my building in Suwon.”

 

And as expected, Doyoon almost immediately stands up at that and claps his hands together. He wouldn't have waited for any kind of permission if Seungcheol had been anyone else.

 

“Who wouldn't want to be a landlord?” He asks into the air as he approaches Jeonghan. “Right boss?” He turns to Seungcheol.  

 

“Well, I certainly won’t be left behind if that’s it.” The chairman adds. “I could use some hold in the metropolitan areas of the Gyeonggido.”

 

People laugh. Seungcheol raises his glass at him as he makes his way to Jeonghan and Doyoon and goes to take a sip.

 

What happens next, Seungcheol forces himself to forget, but it stays with him in flashes, in looks, in moans, in a clenched fist.

 

Just flashes.

 

Doyoon goes to kiss Jeonghan, but Jeonghan moves his head out of the way with a mischievous giggle, leaving Doyoon to collide with his neck. The chairman comes forward and wraps his arms around Jeonghans waist from the back, mouth gently nipping at his ear.

 

Jeonghan gasps as the chairman bites down on his neck. He's always had a sensitive neck.

 

Seungcheol downs some more whiskey.

 

Jeonghan swears, clutching the end of the dining table for support.

 

Seungcheol downs his third glass.

 

Doyoons fucking him excessively hard like he's trying to make a show out of it. The chairman has got a hand on his cock, is being too rough.

 

Seungcheol doesn't like the image as much as he thought he could tolerate it.

 

“Enjoy yourself, Jeonghan.” He hears himself say. “Because I'm gonna chain you to the floor by your fucking throat when we get home.”

 

Dooyon whistles.

 

“That would be a fuckin sight!” He says and smacks Jeonghans bare ass. “You'd look like a dog!”

 

“Bark for us, darling.” The chairman taunts.

 

It makes Seungcheols blood boil.

 

“Like a good bitch.”

 

The chairman takes the opportunity to fasten his grasp on Jeonghans choker so hard that it breaks.

 

At the sound of the thread snapping, Seungcheol gets up and the momentum falters. But instead of going to the table, he steps out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

Jihoon is outside, smoking a roll. Seungcheol goes to his side.

 

“That's not good for your voice.”

 

“Yeah, you fuckin Ph.D health expert?” Jihoon retorts without any malice. “I had no clue that this fuckin cancer stick was dicking my lungs.”

 

Seungcheol breathes a little easy. If Jihoons _not_ swearing at him, it's something to be alarmed about. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his head and think of a response.

 

“You're one of my top money makers, Jihoon. I need your voice to last me as long as possible.”

 

“Gimme a fuckin break then. This is my third comeback this year.” Jihoon snarls and sticks his pack of cigs in Seungcheols direction.

 

Seungcheol sighs and takes one.

 

“Okay after this promotional cycle, you get a two week paid vacation.” Jihoon lights it for him as he sticks it in his mouth. “But I want a new title track written by next month.”

 

“Thank you, grandmaster daddy.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I got management dicking me in the ass, I got you dicking me in the ass, got these netizens dicking me in the ass, I'm tired.”

 

“Must have the loosest asshole on the planet by now.” Seungcheol laughs, blowing a smoke ring.

 

“Speaking of loose assholes, how's that whole thing inside going?” Jihoon asks quietly, watching the swirl of grey melt into the city lights.

 

“As good as it could go.” Seungcheol replies. “Doyoon and the chairman are fucking Jeonghan.”

 

Jihoon falters, taken aback. He knows Seungcheol and he knows Jeonghan. He knows about that pure spite between them that rose out of possessiveness and an almost excess of infatuated love but Seungcheol can tell by his silence that he’s shocked to hear that.

 

Jihoon clears his throat as Seungcheol finds and focuses on a flickering light in one of the rooms of the buildings across from them.

 

“Are you fine with it? Are you happy about it?” Seungcheol feels Jihoon looking at him.

 

“No.”

 

Jihoon sighs.

 

“For as long as I can remember, you were never happy. Then you married Jeonghan and you became even sadder.”

 

Seungcheol stays quiet.

 

“It’s like he’s sucking your soul out of your body like a dementor and you’re fine with it.”

 

“Have you been reading a lot of Harry Potter lately?” Seungcheol loosens his suffocating tie, attempting to change the subject.

 

“See, even now, I'm barely getting any answers out of you.” Jihoon says, annoyed. “He's the only one you respond to. And yes, I’m on _Prisoner of Azkaban_.”

 

“My favorite character is Remus Lupin.” Seungcheol says as Jihoon looks at him. “He’s cool.”

 

Jihoon looks at him, Seungcheol ignores him.

 

“Too bad JK Rowling is racist.” Seungcheol forces a chuckle.

 

Then numbing silence consumes them. Seungcheols never had the courage to meet eyes with Jihoon.

 

“You’re hurting for real this time, aren’t you?”

 

“The other times were fake?”

 

“This isn't good for you.”

 

“I know, Jihoon.”

 

“Then why do you do it?”

 

“Because I love him.” Seungcheols stare in the direction of the city lights blurs his vision, negative dots of light ruin his vision, burn his retinas.

 

“If you loved him, you would stop him. And he wouldn’t do this to you.”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t want to say he deserves it, because that will only disappoint Jihoon even more. He hurt Jeonghan first. Out of fear, out of cowardice. He stopped trying to come up with an excuse for it a long time ago.

 

Seungcheols a coward, too wrapped up in his own insecurities, his own shortcomings, wrestling doubt he's been dragging around for years, to stop Jeonghan. If Seungcheol could give Jeonghan his last breath, he would. If he could muster up the courage to confront Jeonghan, fix all this, love him properly again, he would in a heartbeat. But Seungcheol doesn’t do these kinds of things out of cowardice.

 

“He's not good for you. You're not good for him either.” Jihoon burns through his cigarette and pulls out another one. “Not like this.”

 

“No?” Seungcheol whispers absently.

 

“Seeing you two makes me wonder what would happen if I married Soonyoung.” He mumbles, lighting it. “They finally legalize gay marriage and we fuck it over like this.”

 

A gust of wind blows and Seungcheol suddenly feels so lonely. How terrible it must be, to have all this love to give, but to be too afraid to give it.

 

When the door finally clicks opens, Seungcheol doesn't turn around. Jihoon does and the grimace on his face can only mean Doyoon is in high spirits.

 

Said man comes round to Seungcheol and kisses him softly on the cheek before bitterly whispering in his ear.

 

“He had his fucking wedding ring on the whole time.”

 

Seungcheol takes the end of his cigarette and lightly presses it into his palm, not enough for it to be burn but enough for the heat to snap him out of whatever daze he's in.

 

“Th-the investors from China are coming next week.” Joshua squeaks just for the sake of saying something.

 

Bless him.

 

“Thank you, Jisoo.” Seungcheol replies quietly, clenching and unclenching his fist, looking at the numerous circles of brown in his palms.

 

Footsteps walk past them with mumbled shameful goodbyes. Half these people are in relationships. Seungcheol wonders what lies they’ll tell to whoever once they get home.

 

“It's getting late, you should head home soon.” Jihoon pats his shoulder and straightens.

 

The chairman shuffles out last, rubbing his hands like he just ate a hearty meal.

 

“This old chap won!” He exclaims, patting Doyoons back. “I don’t have the stamina to compete with you youngins anymore.”

 

Doyoon laughs sheepishly.

 

“Oh, its nothing like that.” He turns to Seungcheol. “I’m sure the three of us could work out a deal.”

 

The chairman laughs. “A wonderful CFO you’ve got here. It’ll do you good to hold on to him for as long as possible.”

 

Seungcheol smiles blankly and nods.

 

“And a wonderful darling you've got there, Mr.Yoon. I didn't know a man could fuck like that.” He tells Seungcheol in a lower, more serious voice. “I’d love if you'd both come to my estate in Gangnam for dinner soon.”

 

“I'll have to see about that.” A sharp flash of animosity threatens to take over Seungcheols body. “Have a nice night.”

 

“Sharing is caring, I always say.” Jihoon quips.

 

The chairman laughs and pats Doyoon once more before they both start to head off.

 

“Bring this gem too, if you can. An excellent singer.” The chairman calls over his shoulder.

 

Seungcheol nods and bows, trying not to let the last sliver of his sanity escape him.

 

The venue seems slightly emptier.

 

“You don't like it when people talk about Jeonghan like that but you let this shit happen.” Jihoon speaks up.

 

“Jeonghan wanted this to happen.”

 

“And you think you deserve it?” Jihoon asks incredulously.

 

“Who am I to stop him, Jihoon?”

 

Jihoons manager enters the venue, through the back, tossing an empty pack of camels in the trash. Jihoon sighs.

 

“His husband, love of his life, soulmate, some gay shit like that?” Jihoon claps his back. “Maybe you could start acting like it.”

 

Jihoon goes to meet his manager half way and leaves the building once Seungcheol does not reply.

 

A heavy dark smog falls on him.

 

When Seungcheol walks into the room with the maroon carpet and the gold alternative chandelier, he expects a bit of a mess. He doesn't expect Jeonghan naked on the floor with tissues of gunk haphazardly thrown over and around him. A terrible knot twists in his stomach.

 

Seungcheol paces over, feeling like he's not walking at all, feeling too scared of what he might discover. Jeonghans eyes are heavy lidded, closed practically, he's breathing shallow and soft, all sorts of sexed up, choker is broken loose on the first loop, is suffocatingly tight on the second loop, hes bruising everywhere because he bruises easily.

 

“Did you have fun?” Seungcheol asks simply.

 

Jeonghan shakes his head slightly. Seungcheol expected that much.

 

“I'll call you an uber.” Seungcheol takes his phone out of his pocket.

 

Jeonghan shakes his head with a little more conviction but Seungcheol doesn't care. He's upset, as much as he wishes he wasn't. Jeonghan over stepped and he knows it.

 

“Seungcheol, let me come with you.” His voice is so raw, so ragged.

 

Seungcheol can't stand hearing his name fall off those used lips, not with the scent of three different men coming from them.

 

“Do you know where I'm going?”

 

Jeonghan sits up shakily, looking at Seungcheol with big needy eyes. There is something very sad about those eyes, yet they are all for Seungcheol. He hates that look more than anything.

 

“Please?”

 

“Please?” Seungcheol ask, voice low. “Still have room in your cumdump for me?”

 

“Stop it.” Jeonghans voice cracks.

 

Jeonghan has a light hold on his pant leg. Seungcheol shakes him off.

 

“Get your clothes on.” He tells him.

 

“Stop.”

 

“Stop?” Seungcheol asks incredulously, leaning down so he can get a proper look at the jizz dried on Jeonghans face. “You looked me dead in the eye as my ex fucked you from behind, Jeonghan.”

 

“You could handle it.”

 

“Could I?” Seungcheol picks Jeonghans pants up from the floor and tosses them at him.

 

Jeonghan flings them away, chest shaking.

 

“You should've stopped them if it was going to make you so angry!”

 

“And stop you from having all that fun?” Seungcheol pulls Jeonghan up by the arm, suddenly consumed by raw anger because thats all he knows how to do now. “I live to make you feel good, doll. It wouldn't have been fair if I stopped you.”

 

Jeonghans legs shake, eyes narrowed threateningly as he breaks eye contact.

 

“What a wicked way to treat the man that loves you, Seungcheol.” He whispers.

 

Seungcheol grabs Jeonghans messy hair, forcing him to meet eyes with him. Jeonghan eyes are brimming with tears and Seungcheol has to blink back his own.

 

“Tell me you love me, Jeonghan.” Everything is red in front of Seungcheol. “While you have that bastards semen dripping out of your ass.”

 

“I l-love you.”

 

It's the truth and it hurts Seungcheol to hear it.

 

“Fuck.” He lets go of Jeonghan and stomps out of the room, hands shoved in his pockets.

 

Hello? Can you hear me? Do you love me?

~

 

“Welcome home.” Jeonghan slurs but the nervousness in his voice is clear as he takes Seungcheols blazer, clutching it a little anticipatingly.

 

Seungcheol pinches his nose bridge, loosening his tie and shuffling his feet out of his shoes. It's 2:45 A.M. Almost the devil’s hour.

Jeonghan is freshly showered, awake when he shouldn't be. Seungcheol takes a good look at him and decides to give him what he wants.

 

“Knees.”

 

Jeonghan blinks. He reeks of that nice champagne they keep for special occasions, is wearing his usual silk robes that he loves to wear. A car honks outside loudly, before a loud sound of a crash follows. Jeonghan drops to his knees.

 

Seungcheol fingers rest on his leather belt, its a gift from Alessandro Michele, from his unreleased collection, he feels a little bad using it for this. Jeonghans eye follow him, breathing soft, a little baited, but ultimately expecting.

 

“Tell me why I give in to you every single time.” Seungcheol mumbles, takes off his belt, looping it around Jeonghans throat before pulling tight.

 

Jeonghan gasps, eyes fluttering. Seungcheol takes leads, heading into the bedroom as Jeonghan crawls behind him on all fours.

 

“On the bed.” Seungcheol points once they get inside.

 

Jeonghan goes ahead, getting on the bed with his back to Seungcheol, on his knees, back arched prettily as he slides his robes off his shoulders to show the bite marks on his neck that aren’t Seungcheols doing. It fills him with fury. His eyes travel lower to the tattoo above Jeonghans ass that reads _崔勝澈._

 

The audacity of his husband drives him insane sometimes.

 

“I’m not happy about this, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol tells him.

 

“I know.” Jeonghan looks back at him with the prettiest eyes. “You only fuck me when you’re angry.”

 

Seungcheol sighs.

 

“I don’t want to hear a sound out of you tonight, love.” Seungcheol steps closer as Jeonghan lies down on his back, head slightly over the side of the bed.

 

“Are you going to take care of me?” Jeonghan asks in a kittenish voice, gazing up at Seungcheol, legs obscenely open, thighs soft against the silk sheets.

 

His hair is dangling off the edge of the bed. Seungcheol takes one look at his face before his eyes travel to the side dresser where Jeonghans broken choker sits. A vision of the chairman ripping it off his neck flits in Seungcheols mind.

 

“No promises.”

 

Seungcheol strokes Jeonghan a few times for his own vulgar pleasure before reaching down and gently squeezing his balls. Jeonghan gasps.

 

Jeonghans hand finds Seungcheols bulge, caressing it gently as Seungcheol straightens up again and begins unbuttoning his dress pants.

 

“Are you mad at me?” Jeonghan asks quietly as Seungcheol steps out of his clothes.

 

Seungcheol bites his lip before grabbing the belt around Jeonghans throat and pulling it taut. He brings his tip to Jeonghans lips who easily takes it in.

 

“Touch yourself for me, doll.” Seungcheol mumbles breathlessly because Jeonghan does has a wonderful way with his mouth.

 

Jeonghans slender fingers wrap around his own dick, gently going over the before stroking up and down. The action sends a shiver down his spine that translates wonderfully into Seungcheols cock heavy and large in his mouth. Jeonghans collarbones are glittery, decorated with splotches of red, bite marks that are little to deep. Seungcheol wishes he could burn every hickey the chairman and Doyoon gave Jeonghan off his skin.

 

The thought makes his pull the belt around Jeonghans pretty adam’s apple tight. Tighter than usual as he gently caresses the bump his length makes in Jeonghans throat. He’s driving his dick into his mouth unnecessarily slowly, because Jeonghans desperate hand curled into the sheets and the other gripping his length looks so beautiful, because the seize of his throat at the intrusion feels so nice and hot, because that murmur of arousal feels so good traveling up his stomach, making him shake hard.

 

Seungcheol twists the belt around his palm one more time, loving the choked sounds Jeonghan lets out.

 

“The chairman wanted me to bring you to his place.” Seungcheol starts in a soft voice. “Told me he had so much fun fucking you in front of everyone.”

 

Jeonghans stomach stutters, one hand claws at the sheets, the other comes up to hold onto the leather suffocating him before shakily going back to his throbbing length.

 

“He was too nice to you.” Seungcheol tuts, reaching down to very gently touch the tip of Jeonghans length. “You like it a little rougher, don't you doll?”

 

Jeonghan groans, entire body trembling.

 

Seungcheol removes his hand and thrusts again, leaning down to leave a soft kiss on Jeonghans chest. Jeonghan digs his heels into the mattress, touching himself a little faster, more frequently, enough to for a steady trickle of precome to leak out of him.

 

“Bark for me, huh?” Seungcheols voice takes on a darker tone, a little demonic. “Like a go̖̳̥o҉̩̘̤̯̯̤͘͢ḑ̶͇̞̣̰͍ͅ ̶̶͎̻̹̺b͙̦̤͠į̝̰̫̤͘t͇̟c̡͏̝̘̬͍̼͕h͚.”

 

Jeonghan whimpers.

 

je veux te tuer

 

“You do look like a dog right now with this belt and all.” He comments, tugging the belt playfully before reaching down to give Jeonghans dick one nice hard stroke.

 

Jeonghan bucks as something akin to an orgasm rocks through him, guttural gasps escaping his mouth quickly. Seungcheol relieves the pressure of his throat slightly, pulls out of his mouth, letting him take in a heave of air before tugging tight again.

 

“Did you think I was kidding when I said I'd chain you to the floor?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly, palming the spit all over his length. “That way you'd really be my cunt.”

 

Jeonghan looks up at him with pretty heavy lidded eyes, with spit drooling out of his mouth, practically drunk on the sensation. Seungcheol slides back into his throat.

 

The constriction is so sweet, Seungcheol starts thrusting faster in long strokes without meaning to as the knot in his stomach tightens.  

 

He really is relishing so much. Something about fucking Jeonghan like this, how much Jeonghan gets off on it, gives him a power rush. He brings a palm down onto Jeonghans Adam’s apple, feeling the slide of his cock as he goes in and out. Jeonghan is rigid, his own cock leaking precome onto his stomach, knuckles white in the sheets, until Seungcheol stutters and stutters again and again and comes inside Jeonghans throat with with a long moan.

 

Jeonghan coughs and hacks around Seungcheol as white semen dribbles out of his mouth and nose. Seungcheol keeps his length deep in there deep enough that his balls are on Jeonghans nose. He breathes hard, trying to stay in that headspace as long as possible, trying not to come back to reality.  

 

It’s when Jeonghan whimpers so hard and brings his hand up, looking for Seungcheols hand weakly before attempting to loosen his fingers on the belt that Seungcheol takes pity on him. He pulls out, removes the belt, let's Jeonghan cough and hack out whatever he needs to before gesturing for him to straighten up.

 

Seungcheol sits on the side of the bed with shaking legs, seeing how Jeonghan is heaving, positively debauched, eyes dazed because even someone who likes getting choked, when choked that hard for that long, will probably falter a little. A trickle of spit bleeds out of Jeonghans mouth, dangling off his chin like a shiny thread before breaking and hitting the wet mattress. There’s milky come in his mouth, on his lips, messily coming out of his nose. There’s pretty tears brimming in his red rimmed eyes.

 

Seungcheol gently wraps his palm around Jeonghans length, not moving, patiently watching his husband regain some of his senses.

 

Jeonghan then, on his own, starts to buck weakly into Seungcheols hands, and begins quivering at the oversensitivity in him from the lack of release. Jeonghan whimpers, looking at Seungcheol through a daze of spit, come, and tears.

 

“You think the chairman would do this for you?” Seungcheol asks quietly. “All those other people you’ve slept with?”

 

Jeonghans eyebrows knit, mouth hanging open, trying to pull some kind of orgasm out of Seungcheols loose hands.

 

“Jeonghan likes getting spit on like a whore, right?” Seungcheol continues in a soft voice. “But he’s too embarrassed to tell anyone else that.”

 

That pulls an almost pained moan out of him. Seungcheol watches a little breathlessly.

 

“Have I ever told you how pretty you look with jizz on your face?” He asks as Jeonghan mewls weakly. “I should make you walk around like this.”

 

Jeonghan nods slightly, body threatening to keen over as his chest stutters weakly, eyebrows scrunching, but his eyes stay on Seungcheol.

 

A sigh escapes Seungcheol and he leans forward and kisses Jeonghan softly on the lips. Jeonghan let’s out an exhale at the touch.

 

He does look so stunning like that, on his knees, hair sticky with cum and sweat and tears, his face fairing no better, and that beautiful desperate look in his eyes with a desperate throbbing dick to match.

 

“Y̴̕͟҉̧ơ̸̡͠u҉͏ ̨҉t͟͠h̢͠͝i̸̧͟ņ̧k͠͏ ̡͟y̡͢͜o̡̨̕u͜͞͠ ̧̡͟͠d̴̡e̸͜͢͡s̷̨e̡̧̧̕ŗ̴̧̛͢v̵̛͜e҉͘͘ ̢͟t͏̢̛o̵͜ ̧͘͜c͠͏̕͢͜o̷̡͢͝m̸͡e̴̡͟͜͡?” Seungcheol asks, that strange tone returning to his voice.

 

je veux te tuer

 

Jeonghan nods, trying to still his shaking shoulders. Seungcheol reaches out and wraps his hand around Jeonghans throat before asking again, voice so low, mumbled, because its so quiet, no one else will hear it.

 

“̺̞͡Y̖̝̍͒ō̝͈̖̳ͦu̝̦͚̝̎ͧ̒ͩ̐̊̏ ̲̙̰̔͑̈́ͯ͝t̩͙̞̭͈̗̦h̳͎̰̰̖̗̤ͬ̊̽̎ͮ̇ͨ͟ĩ̶ͮ͂̇̒ͅn͈̝̂̍̃ͭͥͯk̤͕̗͚̩͇͋̅ͯ̚͝ ̫͖͚͇̣̦ͩ̉͋ͣ̏̃y͈̳̥͓̟͔ͅo̧͓̯̗͓̞̭̦u̍̆͑̈̿ ̎ͪͬd̓͒̓̈́҉̮̹̬̹̻̪͓e̻̳̯̘͎̰ͮ̅̔s̯̥̟͔̹̝̾ͪ̀̌͝e̶͛ͦ͑͂̏ͪr̹̦̱̭͓͓v̨̥̦͍̲͇̒̉̇̒e͉̣͖̓̄͠ ̄̓̒̅ͬ̿t̜͑̽o͓̟͓̮̘̦͔͂̾̎̐͊ ̪̟̘̜̲̰̹̒̐͐ͪ̃̆c̞͔͚͙͞ö̴́̆m̡͓̘̱ͨ͂̇̑e̦̪͉ͬͥ͆͡ ̮̻̱͓̞͖̳̿́̈́f̺͖̃̄̍o͒ͧͬͬ̅ͯ̾ŗ͈̥͐̇̅̓ͧ̑ ̰͈̜̮̥̣̭̐ͮͦ̾ͣ͐̇m̱̗̯͈̞ͮͭe̷͉̪̍̆̓́ͧ͊̈́ ̣̟̋͌̃̏̚͢ả̖͢f̘͙̤̘̃̌t̞̤ḙ̡̀ͧͦ͗͌͂r͚̗̣͇̞̻ͪ̉̋ ͈̤̦͓̜̜ͦͦͣͣ̀ͣţ͚͓̆̉̃̃h̾͌͒̊ͬ͞e̖͔̩̻̪̭͒ͦͫͪ ̧͍̱̗̘͚s͐t͕ǘ͓͕͔ͣ̓̾n̟̻͕̅̅ț̗͙̳͑̅̎ ͓̫̠̤͎͚̐͘y̨͛̓̈́ͣo͓̗̬͍͒ͣ̌̕ͅuͧ́͏̰̝ ̡̺̲͑ͅp̼͚̦ͪͨ͑̆ͮͮ̐ụ̎̏̍̃ͭͤͅl̕l̬̲̼̻̳̱ͯ̃ͫ̒̉ͭ̑ͅė̯̓͊̈́̃ͮͥ͢d̻͖̲̻͇͌͂̑̿?̯̱̹͖̈̂”̵͚̥̙̼͔̍ͣ̎͂̒̔ ̷͓̬̦̩͖͉̥͂̿̚'͚̫̯̱̔̌̔,̣͗̇.͙̓̽ͯ͑̀̀̄-̙̦̩͍̦̩͊̓ͭ͂̆̿̿ ̦͖͉̱̺̘͛ͤ̇ͣ̆ ͪ̒͑ ͥ̒͊͌̕ ͔̣̜̃ͩ ̳͈̦̩̱ͩ̈̏ͭ̌̓ ͕̞̩̲̥͉͇ͦͣ̓̐̆̂͌ ̸̫̥̞̹̚ͅ ͙̯ͥ͐ͬ ̱̱̞̗̩̘͕ ͓̹͔̘ ̋̆̓̂͏̺̹ ̟̣̹̖̺̍̽̅ͭͤ

 

Jeonghan lets out a shuddery breath before nodding slightly. Seungcheol tightens.  

 

“P-please, baby?” He rasps out, hands coming up to gently feel Seungcheols fingers around him.

 

Seungcheol slaps him, not very hard, just enough for the resonance of his anger to be properly conveyed to Jeonghan.

 

Tremors are racking through his whole body now, badly held back by the vice like grip Seungcheol has on his throat. Seungcheols smile disappears.

 

“What are you, Jeonghan?” He asks darkly, leaning forward so that their lips brush slightly.

 

“Your c-cunt.” The words barely come out as Jeonghans eyes slowly start to close.

 

He gasps, trying to suck in a lungful of air, but Seungcheols hold doesn't let him.

 

“And what am I going to do with you?”

 

“Ch-chain me to the floor.”

 

Seungcheol kisses Jeonghan again.

 

“Good boy. Are you going to come for me now?” He asks.

 

Jeonghan whimpers and tries to shake his head, wrapping his hand around Seungcheols wrist.

 

“Come on, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol encourages.

 

“P-peach.” Jeonghan whispers after a beat.

 

“What?” Seungcheols grip immediately loosens.

 

“Peach.” Jeonghan sobs out, falling forward as Seungcheol catches him in his arms.

 

Jeonghan wails and wails for what must be minutes into Seungcheols shoulder before he becomes coherent. Seungcheol suddenly finds himself slipping into a strange abyss of numbness.

 

“I d-didn't think...you'd be- this upset with me.” Jeonghan hacks out.

 

Seungcheol hugs a little tighter.

 

“I went too far.”

 

“N-no!” Jeonghan sits up, still sobbing so hard the sound twists itself so painfully around Seungcheols heart. “Y-you had the r-right. I made you a-angry. So angry. I-I’ve never seen y-you that angry.”

 

Seungcheol wipes his face, only to find what he wipes replaced with more wetness. It streams into him, filling up so badly that he's dizzy. He feels like he's not in his body. Like he's watching himself try to pitifully comfort his husband from the corner of the room. It slowly eats him alive.

 

“I'm your c-cunt.”

 

“Jeonghan, don't.”

 

“I'm y-your filthy cunt.”

 

“Jeonghan-”

 

“O-only yours.” Jeonghan hiccups. “No one else's. N-not Doyoon or th-the chairman.”

 

“Stop. You don't have to say that. You're not-”

 

“I'm your disgusting wh-whore that y-you have to chain to the-the floor-”

 

“Jeonghan, enough!” Seungcheol snaps.

 

“S-Seungcheol, I l-love you.”

 

Seungcheol stills, heart beating so hard like it's trying to jump out of his body and kill him. He pulls Jeonghan back into his chest, before quietly rubbing his back.

 

“ _P-please_. I l-love you..pl-please..” Jeonghan wails.

 

“Jeonghan, stop it.” Seungcheol stammers out.

 

Jeonghan fights to sit up again, tears streaking down his face so glossily as his fingers gently touch Seungcheols cheek.

 

“T-tell me you l-love me too.” He begs. “P-please, _please,_ Seungcheol. _God_ , I think I'll d-die if you d-don't.”

 

Seungcheol keeps his mouth tightly shut, heart beating in his ears. Jeonghan sounds far away, even though he's grabbed Seungcheol by the arms, is begging him for something Seungcheols always given him.

Seungcheol worships the ground Jeonghan walks on. Drinks from a poisoned fountain because Jeonghan tells him to. But Seungcheol can’t stand to see Jeonghan distraught, regardless of the reason. It is an unspoken thing between them, no matter the hurt, the degree of hurt, the type of hurt. Hearing something that has been written in stone, said out loud, echoing through a temple of old gods and crystal magic, sends Seungcheol into a trance.

 

“Wh-why do you do this to me?” He asks painfully, because the thought does fleet across his mind. “I love you, alright? S-stop it, now. Please. I l-love you.”

 

Jeonghan blinks before sobbing harder, arms weakly dropping to his side as his face crashes into Seungcheols shoulders.

 

Seungcheol gulps, hands gingerly coming up to stroke Jeonghans hair. Seungcheol doesnt deserve Jeonghans love, that much he's certain of. Seungcheol is too _afraid_ to love Jeonghan because the hurt of it all is eating him alive.

 

However he still repeatedly whispers “I love you” to Jeonghan until everything blurs out.

 

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you 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I love you

~

 

Neither of them speak of that night and it feels like a ticking time bomb has been lit between them. Ticking in each glance and touch, getting closer as each hour passes.

 

Then, one night, Seungcheol comes home from drinking cheap soju from the gas station and finds Jeonghan waiting patiently for him in the lobby. That fact alone unnerves him before he sees the knife in Jeonghans hands.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks drunkenly.

 

Jeonghan grabs Seungcheol by the collar and pushes him against a pillar.

 

“Please kill me.” Seungcheol mumbles.

 

“I should slit your throat.” Jeonghans voice quivers with barely held back rage.

 

Trying to die isn't part of their unspoken game but neither of them have really been following any rules.

 

He digs the point of the knife into Seungcheols skin, enticing a bead of blood to the surface. Seungcheol gazes at Jeonghans lovely kerosene eyes, clouded over with tears stuck to his pupils, he's gritting his teeth so hard, hands so steady but the bob of his Adam's apple betrays him.

 

“Make it count, then.” Seungcheol hears himself whisper as he presses his thumb on his pulse. “Kill me with one clean slice right here. Make it hurt.”

 

Jeonghans hands start chattering as he digs the knife deeper because he’s never been one to back down from Seungcheols dares. A tiny trickle of blood starts sliding down pale skin.

 

“You're beautiful.”

 

Sometimes, this is all Seungcheol can think about.

tick

A sob breaks over Jeonghan and causes him to loosen his grip and he steps back, clutching his head over his right eye, where his migraines usually hit the hardest, the knife slipping out of his grasp. Seungcheol slides to the floor, back against the wall, suddenly overcome with a drunken spell.

 

Seungcheol reaches for the knife and blindly cuts the pad of his pointer and middle finger open.

tick

Oh, it doesn't feel good.

 

Jeonghan gasps and it sends a terrible pang through Seungcheols heart as he snatches the knife away from him and whips it behind him, sinking to his knees in between Seungcheols legs defeatedly. Seungcheol drags his fingers over Jeonghans jaw, ignoring how the prickle of stubble catches in his cuts so painfully. Jihoons words ring in his mind as he watches Jeonghans eyebrows knit in that familiar way and his eyes close to reign back a wetness that always seems to be there.  

 

_“For as long as I can remember, you were never happy. Then you married Jeonghan and you became even sadder.”_

 

Jeonghan goes to say something but Seungcheol sticks his bloody fingers inside Jeonghans yielding mouth to pacify him.

 

“I’m such a terrible husband.” He says.

 

Jeonghans eyelids tremble, a trickle of glitter slithers down his face. Seungcheol has half the mind to wipe it away but he's too drunk to even keep his head upright. His hands slip by his sides weakly. It feels like they're both drowning in sand dunes.

 

“Seungcheol, I love you.”

 

“I know. I kn-know you do.”

tick

Jeonghan takes a moment to grit his teeth and clutch his head over his right eye again before he falls forward, collapsing onto Seungcheols chest like his words took every ounce of life out of him, cheek nestled against where Seungcheols heart is suppose to be, like he's listening hard trying to find it. Seungcheols drowning.

 

 _“He's not good for you_ . _”_ Jihoon had told him. _“You're not good for him either.”_

 

His breath stutters because Jeonghans speaking so softly, but it's like razors grating his ears as he overtakes Jihoons voice bouncing around in mind.

 

“You're not happy.”

tick

Seungcheol shakily raises his hand to touch Jeonghans face, cupping it against his pectoral trying to help him find a heartbeat he isn't sure is there himself. It's sobering.

 

“I know you hate living like this.” Jeonghan continues. “It's destroying you. I can see it. All this money and fame.”

 

Seungcheol closes his eyes, running his hands through Jeonghans hair, ignoring the stinging slice of the strands on his expose flesh, letting the purple darkness wash over them like a serene hush.

tick

“I thought it would stop if we got married but it only got worse.” He mumbles. “And now my husband has trouble falling asleep and I can barely keep myself awake. And no one wants us to be together, Seungcheol. Not even ourselves.”

 

“I want us to be together.”

tick

Silence.

 

“You know, the first time I heard from the tabloids that you cheated on me, when I was in Hong Kong, I drank myself unconscious.” Seungcheol slurs.

tick

“You hadn't called me in weeks and you decided to fuck Doyoon over a stupid rumor.” Jeonghan spits.

 

“The rumor was true, Jeonghan.”

 

Jeonghan sits up and Seungcheol already knows where this is headed but he's so used to taking bait and he's so used to throwing bait he doesn't know what else to do. Jeonghan looks so pale these days, strands of hair come down his face, Seungcheols blood taints his cheeks, jaw, and lips but does not look out of place.

tick

“I was so lonely, Seungcheol.” His voice is so tiny.

 

“So was I.”

 

“You had Doyoon.”

 

“But not you.”

 

“I hate that more than any fame or money, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan voice quivers with subdued anger. “The way he looks at you and makes me feel like you married me out of pity.”

tick

“Doyoon is nothing.”

 

“Then why do you make me feel like he’s taking you from me?” Jeonghans breath rushes out with the last word.

 

A pool of tears surges from Seungcheols core when Jeonghan says that. He feels weak suddenly, dizzy, disorientated, at once lost in a strange indigo backdrop with a kitchen knife laying on the marble floor.

 

This is Seungcheols punishment.

tick

Watching his husband question whether he is loved by Seungcheol at all.

 

“W-why do you make me feel like you were n-never mine to begin with?” Seungcheols voice cracks. “Why do you m-make sure I see you with anyone else? To make me jealous? Or just because you h-hate me for what I d-did?”

 

“Seungcheol, I love you-“

 

“Stop it, Jeonghan. Do you ever mean it when you s-say that?”

tick

Stunned silence. Seungcheol knows those words run through Jeonghans veins but Seungcheol is so off kilter right now, so unlike himself. Everything is doubtful. Even the beating of his heart in his ears is doubtful.

 

“Seungcheol..” Jeonghan mouths in disbelief because his voice is too scared to get out at the accusation.

 

“You don’t love me. I don’t think you ever did”

 

“That’s not true.” Jeonghans eyes brim with sad tears as he shakes his head. “That’s not true! I love you, I love you more than anyone-“

tick

“Then why do you hurt me?!” Seungcheol demands, voice breaking. “Why do you do this to me?! Why do you fuck me over so much, Jeonghan?!”

 

Somewhere in the deep recesses of the universe, a gong hits and sounds. Jeonghan swallows hard, caught off guard, of course. Seungcheol isn’t the one out of the two of them who cries. Never. Jeonghans fingers slide up his chest wanting to touch him in comfort but they reign back uncertainly.

tick

“I’ve made you very upset tonight.” Jeonghan finally whispers in a tiny voice. “What should I do?”

 

Seungcheol decides to address the easier question because he’s too scared to find answers to the more difficult questions. He clears his throat.

tick

“I fucked Doyoon because I didn’t know what else to do. I was alone and I was terrified that that was it for us. And he had me convinced you hated me.” Seungcheol says shakily.

 

A sob escapes Seungcheol. Jeonghans eyes soften slightly.

tick

“I’d see us on TV after that. I’d see how you would fawn over anyone that wasn’t me and it killed me. The way you wouldn’t even look at me anymore.” Seungcheol heaves because he never talks about this stuff. He always keeps it buried because there are things to do, because what he feels doesn’t really matter in his eyes. “Like you didn’t do the exact same thing to me that I did to you.”

tick

Even in a blur of ugly tears, Jeonghan is still glowing, hazy like strange diamonds and glass. Seungcheol can’t seem to get himself together.

 

“Like you were doing me a favor just by standing next to me...like I was the only one at fault.” He shakes his head with a pitiful smile. “That was when I knew I had lost.”

tick

Jeonghan stares at him in shock.

 

“That drove me insane, Seungcheol.” He says darkly. “I was so lonely, it was making me deranged. Do you know what it feels like? To have so much love to give but to be unable to give it?”

tick

Seungcheol knows.

 

This is Jeonghans punishment.

 

Watching his husband shut down in front of him because Jeonghan has made him too afraid to love him.

tick

“You never said anything.” Jeonghan starts shakily and they fall back into their old pattern. “We took it too far. You started spending more and more time away from me and it drove me batshit. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I was so lonely, I wanted something, _anything_.” His voice gets louder. “And you didn’t give it to me! Everyday I wonder if my parents are right and if the media are right. They're trying to convince me you hate my guts and you only make it easier for them. What am I supposed to think?!”

tick

“You should divorce me.” Seungcheol retorts weakly. “Instead of turning it into some bizarre fucking competition. You can't insist you love me and then sleep with whoever you want. Trying to make me jealous is one thing but it kills me to come home and see somebody in my place on the bed every fucking night. I’m a replaceable pig in your eyes.”

tick

“You should do something about it then!” Jeonghan barks desperately. “You get revenge for everything else. You hatefuck me on the floor till I’m screaming for mercy over the stupidest smallest things but why not for that?! Why don’t you get angry at me?! Why don’t you grab my hair and slam my face into a wall when you see me in bed with someone else?!”

tick

“It’s your job to get angry at me, Jeonghan. I could never be angry at you.” Seungcheol hiccups. “No matter what you do.”

tick

“Why doesn’t it make you angry?” Jeonghan asks again in honest confusion. “You take one look at me and go into the other room. Screw forcing you to love me, I can’t even get you to hate me.”

tick

“You can't insist you care about what I feel and then sleep with whoever you want.” Seungcheol reiterates, having trouble keeping his head up right.

tick

It feels like seawater is filling up his ears. Jeonghans expression grows stony.

tick

“You fucking cuck.” Jeonghan growls, grabbing Seungcheols collar in his white fists, ignoring the blood coming down his collarbone and staining the shirt. “No matter how many people I sleep with, it has no effect on you.”

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick

“You’re blind and selfish if you think it doesn’t affect me.” Seungcheol fires back. “Flirting with other people is fine with me, Jeonghan, fucking them is fine. You can do whatever you want to me and I’ll be fine, I’ll take it as long as you’re happy, but do I even mean anything to you? You could find any other rich chairman with a big dick to marry. I can’t do the same for you.”

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick ticktickticktickticktickticktick

“Do you ever think about how you affect _me_?!” Jeonghan shrieks, his grip on Seungcheols shirt tightening. “How I feel seeing you laugh and be with all these people that hate me, and then watching you shut down when you’re with me?! Those people don’t see me as your husband, Seungcheol, they think I’m some bimbo you keep around to lick your cum off the floor!”

ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

“I’m your cuck and your my bimbo, happy!?” Seungcheol demands, tears drying as his skin lights on fire. “It doesn’t matter what they think!”

ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

Jeonghan starts to shake his head.

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“N-no one on this damn planet respects our marriage, Jeonghan. _No one._ ” Seungcheol reminds shakily because _oh_ he hates it so much too. “That’s all we are in their eyes. A cuck and a bimbo.”tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

**HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU LOVE ME?**

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

“You’re not worth the respect, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan bites and lightning flashes in Seungcheols heart. “You're insufferable, you’re disgusting.”

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“You're a sadist, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol breathes out, alcohol taking over his systems as he watches the denial in Jeonghans eyes. The pure unfiltered rage. Only he can get that kind of reaction out of Jeonghan. He couldn’t find this anywhere else if he tried.

ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickti

“You're vile, cynical, a whore, and a depressed alcoholic. And I can't stand you for it.”

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick-

“YOU MARRIED ME FOR IT!” Jeonghan screams.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Do you love me? Tell me you love me. God. I think I’ll die if you don’t.**

 

~

  


Seungcheol is on edge. Seungcheol has been on edge for days now. Seungcheol has not slept a wink since that night of love at the devils hour. A primal aggressive instinct goes crazy inside him at the slightest inconvenience. Like there’s a dark dense cloud of pure hatred spreading inside him like poisonous gas inside a pressurized chamber and one day,

 

Entropy.

 

The night sky feels like a black abyss of nothing. Seungcheol is going through some final emails of the day at his desk, not really registering what they’re saying. Wanting to go home to find some solace, but even there, there is no solace.

 

“Hey.”

 

Seungcheols jaw clenches just at the voice.

 

“You still here?” Doyoon asks, walking over.

 

Seungcheol hums in confirmation, wanting to get through this interaction without going senile. Just the thought of Doyoon ma͓̱̹͖̠͓k̩e̬̥̻̜s̥͙̙̤ ̯͖̫̘̩͙͘h̴͖i̦̱̱͕̪̮̟m̴̭͔̰͔ ̭̬̮͝w͈͕̭̬͞a̢̱̥n̤̭͎̪̫̟͡t̷̟͖͖̙̪̖̤ ͏̮̝̼͉t̞͞o̤̫̰͓̣͖ ̫̝͔͖b̴r̳̠e̻̟̼̬̰̮͜a͙͚̲̟ḵ t̼̺̺̠̱h̝̳͙e̲̫̘̜̪͇̟ g̭̪̹͍̦̜̥ḷ̝̘̠̟̠̪a͔͇̱͙̖̭s̢ṣ̬̲̺ ̺͎̯̯̪̖̭͟wi̭̰̘͇͞n̗͓͔̩͕͙̮d͎͈͇͎͕o͚w̫͖s͉̟͈̥ ̪̪b͇͕͚͔͚͉e̴̼h̞̥̫̤̗̜i͉͔͔͓̠n̤̙̜͈̘̣ͅd͙̤͎͚̪͙ ҉̼h̛̲i̖̱m̡̥͔͈̱̯ ̫̠̣̖̩̣̪ḁ͓̜̘̖͜n̷d̞͎͓̹͈͍ ͉ṭ͔͎͝h͙͇̘̞͉͍r̗̰̪ow̥̞̤̕ ̢͎̭͍͉t̷̮h͕̭̭̦̬e̸̲ ͝C̜̥̳̪̲FO͇̱͇ ̢̜͕f͎͍̠̣̫͎ͅr͕̯͔̮̼o̮̪̱͈͈̫̖͟m̲̱̯̪͢ ̰͙̣͖̱̜͍t͍͉̯̭h҉̘e͏͍̮̟ ̰̣̭͓͇̯͕3̡͙0̸̣͎͕͙̱͎ ̺̳̜̱̜͙̹s͏t̜̗̱͎͔̟o̮r̩̗̱y͏̝ ͇̺̼̟ḅ̝͓̺͜u̥i̠͚͜ḻ̼̦d͈͖i͙̭̞͓͚̩n̳̰ͅg ̖͇̞̼̬i̹̠̜ṇ̝̘̥̻̪t̠̲̭o̺̪͉̩̺͟ ͖̝̝͎͍͘o̡̜n̮͘ͅc̡̫̼̙̼̬̫͓o̰̮̼m̶̰͕̞̘̹i̗̳͚̗̞ng͔̙ ̥̘̩̠͓̺̲t̛̙̰̙̭r̰͓̠͇̣̻a҉͈̼͎f̱͉f͔̮̺ͅḭ̡̫͕͖͎̳͖c̹͝ͅ. ͏̩̦͉͓̺̟̥

҉̠̜͉

Doyoon comes round behind Seungcheol, leaning over his desk.

 

“Aw come on. This is Jisoos job.” Doyoon gestures to the email from the Amorepacific chairman open on Seungcheols laptop in dismay. “Or do you pay him just to be the office slut?”

 

“This isn’t pornhub, Doyoon. Get out if you don’t have any work related shit.”

 

“You think I’ll leave just cause you tell me to?” Doyoon asks with a laugh. “I’m not your friend, Seungcheol.”

 

Something is irking inside Seungcheol. Something is dragging its sharp razor-like claws against the flesh of Seungcheols innards and bleeding out of his skin.

 

“Why the long face, babe?” Doyoon asks quietly, finding Seungcheols gaze.

 

Seungcheol figures out why Doyoon is in his office so late at night. It sends a chill up his spine.

 

“Go home, Doyoon.” Seungcheol tries for a steady voice.

 

Doyoon gets Seungcheol to his most vulnerable, at his last straw, breaks him down more and more until almost nothing is left before having his way with him. That was how he did it last time. And Seungcheol fell for it

 

“Are you upset with me?” The artificial guilt in Doyoons voice drives a knife into Seungcheols neck.

 

“I know what’s bothering you Seungcheol.” Doyoon says very matter of factly. Like he has direct access to Seungcheols brain. Maybe he does.

 

“That night confirmed the worst for you, didn’t it?” Doyoon continues. “Jeonghan doesn’t love you. He never did.”

 

“I wish you’d kill me instead of saying these things to me.”

 

**Hello? Can you hear me? Do you love me?**

 

Tell me you love me. God. I think I’ll die if you don’t.

 

“When you first married that cunt, I would spend hours dreaming up ways to rip his guts out and feed them to you.” Doyoon whispers menacingly. “Watch you gag on them and then kill you by pouring acid down your throat.”

 

“Say his name again.”

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

“He fucks like a whore. Wonder who taught him that.”

 

**Do you love me?**

 

“I wonder who taught Yoon Jeonghan how to take my cock so well.”

 

The thing that was inside Seungcheol, screaming, finally claws it’s way out, landing a hard hit on Doyoons jaw with strength that a man running on 0 hours of sleep would not be able to conjure.

He stumbles against the table in shock before looking up with a surprised grin.  

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**je veux te tuer**

**JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER** He’s bleeding from the mouth, bottom lip probably gnashed into his teeth hard enough to rip. **je veux te tuer** Seungcheol grabs Doyoon by the collar, slamming his back against the glass windows.

 

**Do you love me?**

 

“Say his name again.” Seungcheol says quietly, menacing **JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEUX TE TUER JE VEU**

 

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

 

Seungcheol smashes his forehead against Doyoons hard enough that an involuntary groan of pain emits from Doyoon.

 

“If I hear that name leave your mouth one more time.” Seungcheol leans forward so his mouth touches Doyoons ear. “I will personally see to it that you and the next 9 generations of your family never find work in this great country of god again.”

 

“You’re so weak Seungcheol.” Doyoon slurs. “So fucking weak.”

 

Seungcheol rams his forehead against Doyoons again, so hard that the glass behind him shakes from the momentum. Doyoons eyes start to roll back, displaying only demonic whites.

 

“Y-you’ve been a doormat your whole l-life.” He struggles out. “No free will because daddy b-beat it out of you since you were 10.”  

 

Seungcheol breathes heavy, that gnawing monster reaching its black claws out of his mouth, trying to kill anything that comes near it.

 

Doyoon licks his bloodied lips.

 

“A-and you thought m-marrying that whore would've been good for you? Helped you heal?” He smiles unnervingly. “I’ve watched you turn into a carcass of a human because you’re too damn scared to do anything with yourself.”

 

**je veux te tuer**

 

Doyoon inhales sharply, like he’s trying not to passed out.

 

“You thought someone as fucked as Yoon Jeonghan would be good for someone as fucked as you?”

 

Seungcheol let’s go of Doyoon, letting him sink to the floor. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point. There’s no point.

 

**Hello? Do you love me?**

 

I'll make sure you die with your ears cut off.

 

“Get out of my office, Doyoon.” He says quietly.

 

“You could kill me if you wanted to, Seungcheol.” Doyoon looks up at him. “Gift my dead body to Yoon Jeonghan on your anniversary. He’d love it.”

 

I’ll make sure you die with your tongue ripped out.

 

Seungcheol kicks Doyoons face in. He hears bone breaking and crunching under his shoe. He stomps again before kicking Doyoon to the side.

The lights of corporate buildings across, taxis on the road twinkle back prettily.

 

I’ll make sure you die with your eyes gouged out.

 

~

  


Seungcheol comes home with his third cigar of the night in his mouth and a large ugly bruise on his forehead. He hears voices in the dining room.

 

“Oh, darling. You're home.” Jeonghan is in his robes, hair slightly dishevelled, how they would be after a quick nap.

 

He’s swigging a glass of champagne, sitting on the table as a rent boy stands by, twiddling his thumbs, clearly exhausted.

 

“This is my husband.” Jeonghan tells him.

 

The escort cautiously bows to him. Seungcheol takes a deep long drag of his cigar before pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

 

He takes out a couple of 50000 won notes and hands them to the prostitute. His eyebrows raise as he takes the money with both hands.

 

“Don’t come back.” Seungcheol pats him on the back as he bows and takes his leave.

 

“How was work?” Jeonghan asks casually, offering Seungcheol a sip.

 

He eyes the bruise but says nothing.

 

Seungcheol takes the glass and hands Jeonghan his cigar. Jeonghan takes a long puff while Seungcheol takes a big gulp.

 

They both sigh.

 

“I’m tired, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol tells him as they exchange back.

 

Jeonghan straightens up and kisses Seungcheol. Seungcheol kisses back, hands gently carding through his hair and cupping Jeonghans face.

 

“I wish you’d stop doing this.” He whispers into Jeonghans lips.

 

”Me too.” Jeonghan replies and leaves a small peck on the corner of his mouth.

 

They part. Seungcheol puts his cigar back in his mouth and turns Jeonghan around, bending him over the table.

 

He hikes his robes up, palming the soft skin of his bottom before slipping his fingers in between.

 

“The good thing about all this cheating is how easy your ass has gotten.” Seungcheol unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, stroking it to full hardness.

 

“If your just taking your frustrations from work out on me then I don’t want to have sex.” Jeonghan tells him.

 

“Then we’d never have sex.” Seungcheol answers.

 

Seungcheol runs his fingers over the tattoo of his name Jeonghan has on his lower back. It’s faded slightly from all the years it been.

 

“Be rough with me today, Seungcheol.”

 

“Any particular reason?” Seungcheol pulls apart Jeonghans asscheeks and spits on his hole.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Seungcheol enters with a clean thrust. Jeonghan gasps.

 

“I missed you too.” He says honestly, pushing his hand between Jeonghans shoulder blades.

 

They fall into a tempo.

 

“Harder.” Jeonghan mumbles at one point.

Seungcheol obliges silently.

 

Minutes of rhythmic fucking pass.

 

A sob suddenly breaks over Seungcheol.

 

“Jeonghan, I love you.”

 

Tonight is their 8th anniversary.

 

~~

  


_Are you at the office? Can I come see you?_

 

Seungcheols eyebrows scrunch. There's a certain urgency to Jeonghans text that he wishes wasn't there.

 

**_Is something wrong?_ **

 

The reply is almost instant.

 

_Please, Seungcheol. I have to talk to you._

 

Seungcheols thumbs hover over the keyboard. Jisoo slips into the room and leaves some papers on Seungcheols desk, mumbling about Amorepacific.

 

**_I have a meeting tonight._ **

 

“...they want to us to withdraw our share.” Seungcheol just barely catches Jisoos drawl.

 

“Tell them I'll gladly take my investment elsewhere.” Seungcheol goes back down to his phone to see a new text from Jeonghan.

 

 _Could you postpone it? Please, I think I'm gonna have a heart attack_.

 

“Jisoo, before you go.” Seungcheol straightens up. “Send out an alert changing the status report to tomorrow morning. Throw in something about back up plans in case we split with Amorepacific.”

 

Jisoo wavers at the door, pretty eyes lost in pretty thought.

 

“Is there a reason…”

 

“Something just came up at home.” Seungcheol gazes at his delicate figure.

 

He wore semi sheer today for absolutely no reason other than to have Seungcheols stare linger on him like this.

 

“Ah.” Jisoo smiles. “I understand.”

 

“Jeonghan will be coming soon. Bring him here when he does.” Seungcheol turns back to his phone.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

**_I postponed it to tomorrow. You won't have any trouble getting here, will you?_ **

 

There's no reply, just a little tick mark that indicates Jeonghan has seen the message.

 

Then Seungcheol is absently doing his work, trying to figure out what on earth could have Jeonghan this rattled when there's a faint commotion outside and then Jeonghan bursts through the door.

 

Seungcheol is so used to seeing him in either his robes or a suit, that now, seeing him in a grey unironed cardigan of Seungcheols, thrown on haphazardly over some dark jeans, hair askew in a bun like he didn't have time to brush it, wire rimmed circular spectacles that he never wears perched on his nose in favor of contacts, makes his heart race a little.

 

“Seungcheol.” Jeonghan staggers to his side, dropping to his knees in front of him.

 

Seungcheol glances at the door where Jisoo is waiting patiently and gestures for him to close it. He gently runs his fingers over Jeonghans poorly shaven stubble. He must have run up the stairs from how hard he's panting.

 

“What's wrong?” Seungcheol leans down.

 

“My parents called.” His eyes are so frazzled. “And they want to visit.”

 

Seungcheol blinks. A furious panic starts to build in his stomach but he takes care not to show it. Jeonghans parents. The two people in the world who were so against Seungcheol and Jeonghans union that they would trespass into their home everyday while Seungcheol was at work and pressure Jeonghan to divorce him, threaten to disown him, have him arrested, anything. They even went as far as using their political power to frame Seungcheol for money launderin To force them to part.

 

“They want to visit?” Seungcheol asks in a small voice. “When?”

 

Jeonghan straightens and rests his forehead in the crook of Seungcheols neck, letting out a shuddery breath.

 

“Tonight.” He mumbles against Seungcheols skin. “I couldn't refuse, Seungcheol. Theyre coming for dinner and staying the night.”

 

Seungcheol rests his cheek on Jeonghans hair, at a loss for words. He hasn't seen Jeonghans parents in years. The last he heard from them was eavesdropping on a phone call where Mrs.Yoon was calling Jeonghan a faggot.

 

“Heya, Boss.” Doyoon the toddles in and stops upon seeing the sight in front of him. “Oh, hi Jeonghan.”

 

Jeonghan straightens up, eyebrows scrunching, probably looking at the bandages on Doyoons face in confusion. Seungcheol clears his throat, trying to digest the information thrown at him as he gently holds Jeonghans shoulders.

 

“H-hi, Doyoon.”

 

Doyoon gives him a tight lipped smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes before turning to Seungcheol.

 

“So the whole ‘withdraw your share’ with amorepacific.” He starts, shuffling through papers and advancing toward Seungcheols desk. “They're doing this because KMG is offering them less interest for more-”

 

“Doyoon, I'm in the middle of something.” Seungcheol tells him.

 

“Well, he can wait.” Doyoon chuckles like that's the funniest thing Seungcheols ever said, glancing at Jeonghan. “KMG also has that new-”

 

“When can I expect a resignation letter from you?”

 

“After this whole thing blows over. I mean, the meetings tomorrow-”

 

“Go get your stuff in order for that, then.”

 

“My stuffs already in order.” Doyoons tone darkens noticeably. “Jeonghan can wait.”

 

“If it's really important, I can-” Jeonghan starts but Seungcheol isn't in the mood for Doyoon and his condescendance.

 

“Get out.”

 

Doyoon stills, processing the exchange before giving a dazzling smile to Jeonghan.

 

“Alright you two. I'll stop by later.”

 

Seungcheol ignores him and turns to Jeonghan, who's eyes are clouded, mind elsewhere, chest barely rising with the fall of breath.

 

“Jeonghan.” Seungcheol calls.

 

Jeonghan blinks and looks back at Seungcheol, lips pressed into a tight line.

 

“It’ll be fine.” Seungcheol tries to sound as convincing as he can. “We’ll be fine. Its just one day.”

 

~

 

Seungcheol arrives home, toddles carefully into the formal living room to find Mr and Mrs Yoon situated comfortably on the three seater as Jeonghan is perched on a decorative loveseat adjacent, hands picking at their fingers, a nervous tick he seems to be trying to hide.

 

“Sweetheart.” Jeonghan smiles so brightly at him it's almost blinding but there's a terrible panic in his eyes.  “You're home.”

 

Seungcheol grins in what he hopes is a charismatic manner at Jeonghans parents, coming round into the living room to greet them formally.

 

“I'll get started on some tea.” Jeonghan straightens up the second Seungcheol settles into a sofa.

 

Seungcheol watches Jeonghans silhouette disappear out of the formal living room in despair.

 

“We were in the country so we thought we'd stop by.” Mrs Yoon says, eyes dissecting Seungcheol like they always have.

 

“That's wonderful. What brought you to Seoul?” Seungcheol attempts to get Mr Yoon into talking because he's the easier of the two to tolerate. “Your business or just a vacation leg or…”

 

“Business.” Mr Yoon clears his throat. “Or more accurately an investment.”

 

“Ah.” Seungcheol nods in understanding. “Things must be going well then.”

 

“And you, Choi?” For some blood boiling reason he refuses to address Seungcheol by his married name. “Still exporting yen to an artificial island?”

 

Seungcheol attempts a chuckle.

 

“Mr. Yoon, you know as well as I do, that those charges were dropped on false accusation.” He tries.

 

“Oh but Seungcheol, you know as well as we do, that there's nothing true about how your family came to power.” Mrs Yoon speaks up. “Your father was a money launderer.”

 

“All his overseas transactions were legal.” Seungcheol has to dig his nails into his palms for that to come out half polite. “Until he was framed for laundering after his death.”

 

He leaves out the “by you” because there's no particular love Seungcheol feels toward his father, or his entire family for that matter, and there's no strength in his heart or body to start a fight with the heads of the second biggest group in South Korea but it would be wrong to not defend Mr.Choi against such assumptions.

 

“Must be tough.” Mrs Yoon tuts. “Not being able to get your hands on that money.”

 

Seungcheol feels a vein in his forehead popping.

 

“I'm faring just fine.”

 

“I'm sure you are.” Mrs Yoon continues. “Leaving my poor son all alone at home while you break the law.”

 

“I'm not breaking any laws.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “And Jeonghan is fine.”

 

“Jeonghan _was_ doing just fine before you decided to ruin his life.” Mrs Yoon retorts as Mr Yoon leans back relaxed, at home. “A singer on the rise, independent, happy.”

 

 _He wasn't happy._ Seungcheol wants to retort. He knows Jeonghan was the farthest thing from happy. He was dead eyes and forced smiles and arched backs because the Yoons were telling him what to be, what to do, how to feel, scratch that, not feel at all, because Jeonghan was their little money maker, their little star to show off at investment dinners, all that bullshit. They worked him to shit and by that point, all he could do for the few hours he wasn’t on stage but instead at an investment dinner was sit quietly.

 

And Seungcheol first saw Jeonghan at one of those things, fell in love with him on the spot because that's what everyone does when they see Jeonghan.

 

But everyone else wanted Jeonghans fame and they wanted Seungcheols money. Seungcheol and Jeonghan just found excuses to find each other as frequently as they could after the first night when they met on the furthest balcony in the furthest corner, as far away from everyone as they could get.

Jeonghan had dead eyes but they would come alive when Seungcheol touched their foreheads and pulled an moan out of him. And everywhere Jeonghan touched him, Seungcheol felt _something_ . Not sparks or something corny and romantic like that, _something_ a lot more because outside the plane of their terrible terrible lives, there was _something_ between them and Seungcheol knew he was starving for it because the only touch he had felt prior was painful.

 

Mrs Yoon insults Seungcheols haircut and says it doesn't suit his face, then she goes on to say that nothing suits his face.

 

“I'll go check on Jeonghan, see what's taking him so long.” Seungcheol mumbles, straightening up.

 

Jeonghan is grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter with white knuckles like if he lets go he'll collapse on the floor, his back is toward Seungcheol, shoulders hunched like someone's sticking needles in them, breath audible and terrified.

 

Seungcheol comes to his side, running a finger over the hard frown line on the side of his mouth.

 

“It's only for one day.” Seungcheol reassures. “They won't do anything to you, I won't let them.”

 

It's a promise Seungcheol isn't certain he can keep.

 

“I feel like I’m gonna die.” Jeonghan gasps.

 

The electric kettle beeps indicating that the water inside it has boiled. Seungcheol goes ahead and pours the water into two cups of tea leaves Jeonghan has already set up, stirring absently.

 

Seungcheol tries to force out a breath but his own lungs are getting tighter with each minute.

 

“I'm going back now. Take a few minutes and then come out, okay?” Seungcheol finally chokes out, tucking Jeonghans hair behind his ear, kissing him softly on the neck.

 

The Yoons are in the same pose Seungcheol left them in as he toddles back in and sits down where he had been sitting.

 

“Tea is done.” He attempts to chirp.

 

“Wonderful.” Mrs Yoon doesn't look up from her phone.

 

Jeonghan finally emerges, holding a tray of three beautiful cups, hands shaking so hard that the cups are clinking against the tray. Jeonghan forces a smile before setting the tray on the center table before going on his knees and plopping a dollop of sugar into one cup and handing it to his father.

 

“Sweetheart, you didn't make one for yourself?” Seungcheol asks quietly.

 

Jeonghan shakes his head before gulping hard.

 

“I don't want any.”

 

This is a habit of his. Being too nervous to eat or drink.

 

Mrs Yoon sets her phone down, waiting for her tea. Jeonghan drops three cubes of sugar in another cup and stirs before holding it out to her. Mrs Yoon glances at the cup once before landing a hard slap on Jeonghan face. The cup goes flying and Seungcheol springs to his feet.

 

“No sugar, dear. I'm on a diet.” Mrs Yoon informs.

 

If looks could kill, she would be dead by now from how Seungcheol is glaring at her. Jeonghan goes to collect the cup.

 

“Leave it, Jeonghan. I'll clean it up.” Seungcheol stops him.

 

He can’t kick them out. They can’t kick them out because it’ll make national news and have them blacklisted from the industry. That already happened to Jeonghan in entertainment once he left. The Yoons are trying to get a rise out of both of them.

 

Mr Yoon sips his tea quietly, eyes studying Seungcheol. A strange staticity fills the air. Jeonghan straightens up, hair askew on his red cheek, head down as he nods slightly and he straightens up and goes to sit on the loveseat adjacent. Seungcheol wishes he could kill this man and woman who dared to set foot in his home right now.

 

“Mrs Yoon. You can have mine.” Seungcheol picks his cup up with both hands and holds it out to her. “No sugar.”

 

“What tea is this, Choi?” Mr Yoon asks as his wife takes the cup from Seungcheol.

 

“Pi Lo Chun. Imported from Jiangsu, China.”

  


j  I̗̖̲̲̜ͧͧ̅͗̍ͭͬͫ̒͊ͨͯ͐͘ ͕̱͉̖̖͉̯͈̘̼̥͂͊̋̀͟͞w̵̡̳͖̠̠͇͇ͮ̔̋͗̊ͨ͒̀͊ͤ̍͊̇̒̽ͣ͂̑a̛̍ͫ̈́̑ͣ̆̄͒͑́ͯ̅ͩ͂̍ͭ͌̚͠҉͟҉̟̟̻͔̣͈̘̼̬̳͕̜͕͙ͅn̗̭͖͎̱̱̺̒̐̓͒̿̑͆̾ͪ͗̽ͯͮͪͦ̅̉̉͟͞͡t̵̥̦̗͍̟͙̼̯̂̾͑ͨ͒̈̀ͯͯ͛̚̕͜͡ ̶̣̭̘̇̾̾ͬ̒ͣ̐ͮ̒̆͗̆͜͜j̫̰͈̠̘̰̱̇͐̍͛͢͞ę̞̠̹͇̼͕͐̊͗́̕͢ ̵̢͖̞̦̗͇̯̬̲ͪ̓̂̒͆ͤ͋̈́ͤ̊͒͊͒ͭ̈ͮ̎͠ͅv̨̻̘̬̫̫͈̘͉̻ͩ́̀ͥ͢ͅe̴̢͎̳̗͙̦̖͍ͥ̓̀̿͂̑̎ͮ̉ͪͣ̈ͤ͌͘͢ũ̸̙̖̟̼͙̟̗͉̱̯̥̗̦̫͈ͥ͊̒͡͡͡x̶̡͔̦̮̠͇̠̞͙̃̐̔̄͒ͭͯ͐ͯ͑̆͟ ̡̛̼̺̝̦̏͗̉̎̾̈́̉́̓̎ͩ͘͝Iͪ̏̇̂͗̅͂ͤ͘͟͏̴̪͈͇̦̙̮̹̬̳̘̰͇̝̜̭͉ ̂̏̚͏̵̮̲̪͈͈̘̝̝̟͕̩͡w̴̯͇͓͓̯͖̤͕̯̥̣̼ͪ͋͐͂̅ͦ̓͒ͪ̌͒ͥ̑͗̈́̒͟åͣ̃̓ͤͬ̈́͐͂̏ͥ̆̚҉̶̛̦̹̪͎͚̻̖͎̩͎͕͝ṉ̛̲̣͉͙ͧ̎̂ͪ͘̕t̵̛̮͉̗̥̲͈̱͍͎̭̂ͤ̈́̏ͦͯ̈́ͭͨ̆ͦͅ ̈ͮ̀̽͌̓ͭ́̍ͣ͌̌ͬͦ̎͛̐̚̚҉̭͇̜̤̘̦̟̰̗̭̮̭͉̞͙̫͇ͅṭ̨̛̘̘͓͚̖͙͙̝̾̒̒̆ͩͨ̓͊ͯ̿͐͌͋̅͌͋̚͠o̶̡͌̀̊ͫ̋̑̋̓̿̚͞҉̯̘̬̱̮̘̝͇ͅ ̵̬͖̻̝̤̥̜̀̍́ͪ͗̓͢k̵̷̸̝̬̩̻͔̮̟͚͍̘̺̫͔̤̺̞͇̘͋̌ͫ̐́ͥ͊̿̌̄̎͆̆̃ͮ̆̄ĭ̶̛̖̥̯̼͚̝͚̻̮͇͖̖̩̍̿ͣ̿͌ͭ͛ͮ̇l̨̖̱̮̲̝͎͓͓̘̖̙̳̖͐̆͂̽ͮͬ͘͞lͣͫ̅͐ͫ̀ͦ̾҉̜̬̻̘̦̺̼͝ ̶̸̭͚̮̲͈̪̇ͧ̇̓̓ͧͧ̄͆̐̚͝͞t̡͗́͆̈͠͏̙̦̤̦̰̺͔̥͙̠͙̪͖̰̫͉͙ͅē̵̷̢̧̹̖̜̪̏ͮͣ͌̓͗ͧ̍̃̿͋ ̲̟̺̯̰̻̭͂͌̎͘͢Ĭ̛̦͍̥͕̦͚̖̫̭͓̤̗͑̽̍́͗̃̉ͤ̍ͣ͌ͩ͝ ̵̮͔̞̳̠͇̥̠̮̔ͯ̄̏̄̑ͫ͆ͯ̾͌ͬ̌̎͛ͦ̊̑̚͡ẉ̛̳̱̟̞̘̺̟͍ͥ̅͌̍̍̽ͣ̅͋̑͘͜͝a̸͔̮̦͖̱̹̙̝̖̮̼̳̿̈́̈́̃ͫ͒͑̚͢͝n̷̼̥̠̺̠͍̙̥͈̩̥̖͉͓̖͉̹̼̽̓̈̋̇̃͑̏̾̀̓͝t͛̆̌ͬ͊̔̉ͤ́̆̔̾̚͏̢҉̴͇̮̳͕̳͍̹̦͇̜̰̮̜̳͔̼͚ ̴̼̰̱̝͉̯̥̝̤̯͉̹̣̰̔̏̈́́͂͑̉ͮ̈́t̃ͧͥ̂̀̔̒͛̚͜҉̖̲͎̙̠̘̰̜͙̞͔̲̹̘ͅo̧̨̎͆̈́͑͊̆͏͏̘͓̼̖̳͔͔̘ṫ̵͚̮̖̬̗͙̬ͩ́ͬ̇͒̊̃̚͘ę̷̴̨̱̻͖̳̙͙̤̜̜̙̝͇̳͎̔̈̑͊͂ͮ̂͊ͨ̐͊͐ͦ̄̈́͝ͅ ̛͉̗̫͔̩̭͉̼̠͇͎̯̗̱̩͇̳̟̎͑͗̃͑ͦ͡͝t̛̹̬̠̙ͫͮ̆̂ͣ͟͞u̧̢̠̻̙̘̞̞̹̗̹̥͉̠̯͙̠ͥͪ̀̒̆ͤͯ̇ͯ̕͜ę̯̹̦̳̥̱̦̭͚̞͎͒͗͗̅ͬͥͭ̑̇̆͞r̴̸̙̫͙̩̗̻̖̺̫̻̪͉̯̮̦̝̙ͪ̿̌͑͛̐͛̓ͫ̿ ̶̛̯̤̻̯̘͓̼̯̰̝̘͎̪͓̏͒̀̆̃̍̍̋ͯ́ͩ̒͆ͪ̂̈̄ͣͬ͜͝ͅk̵̇̈̆͒҉̭͙̳̥͔̞͎̱̰̰̗̜͕̳̭į̶̞̬̱͈̩̞̫̣̮͎̔̓̔ͣ̈́ͧ̉̾́̍̑͌̎ͧ̑̃ͦͧ̚͢͞l̶̛̮̹̞̞̖̖̖̳̓ͩͩ̋ͣͮ̏̂̈́͑̆̚͡ͅl̴̴̶͙͙̯͈̩̱̖̙̠͒͌ͫͫ̈ͨͮ͑ͦ̌̒̌͜͠ ̧̢̖̜͓̫̟͆ͫ̽ͥ̋̋̚͝ỳ̵͕͎̹͙̤̙̰̙̌̿ͣͪ̏̄ͩͨ͘o̵̞̘͓̦̭̪̩͈̰͕̻̯͕̥̅̋̈̉ͪ̈̏ͬ̐̈́ͬ̃ͩ̑͢͠͞͞ͅu͑͛͌͊ͮͪ̓̈̄̽ͫͣͭ͟͞͏̺̲͎̺͓̪̻͉̠̮̰̩̙͍͔ ̮̺̤͇̥̲͑͆̽̉ͯ̽̈́͂̊̈́ͣ̒̀̚͞ͅ             E. veux. te tu Er

 

Seungcheol kneels down to pick up the broken teacup.

 

~

Dinner is made by their good sou-chef friend, Mingyu. He drops by with his team and with ingredients, as hes setting up, he turns to Seungcheol.

 

“Do you want me to poison their food, hyung?” He asks.

 

Seungcheol would crack a laugh if he wasn't about to crack at the seams of sanity. He pinches his nose bridge and shakes his head.

 

~

 

Jeonghan barely touches his food, keeps his hands idle in his lap. He looks frighteningly like how he used to when he was all done up, avoiding gawking stares from investors who viewed him more as a product than as a person. And the Yoons were so proud. But right now Mr Yoon seems on edge.

 

“Have you gone and given him an eating disorder too, Choi?” Mrs Yoon turns to Seungcheol.

 

Seungcheol places a gentle hand on Jeonghans, it's more of a _please don't make your parents angry._

 

“Why aren't you eating, love?”

 

“I'm not..I'm not very hungry.” Jeonghan almost whispers. “Sorry, I'm ruining dinner.”

 

Seungcheol starts to shake his head and say _‘_ no’ but Mr Yoon loudly sets his steak knife on the plate.

 

“Eat, Jeonghan.”

 

Jeonghan turns to look at him with those dead eyes. Seungcheol removes his hand and stays silent.

 

“I'm really not hungry-”

 

“You can't even obey a simple order anymore, can you?” Mr Yoon snaps. “You leave the family to marry this criminal, you let him fuck you like some kind of faggot-”

 

“Mr Yoon, please-” Seungcheol tries to cut in.

 

“ _Oh_ and that hair of yours.” Mr Yoon laughs, grabbing his steak knife. “You think you're really something, don't you?”

 

The most Jeonghan does in response is let out a shuddery exhale like his body is refusing to let him breathe.

 

“You're an embarrassment, Jeonghan.” He stands up and Seungcheol finds himself itching to get up as well. “I built you to be who you are. I invested thousands into you, I made you everything. And you've ruined yourself. You are nothing without me. We lost _billions_ in revenue when you withdrew your contract. And all for what?” He starts advancing and sirens start going off in Seungcheols ears.

 

“Mr Yoon-”

I͓͈̳̙̘̥͇̘̠̬̕͝͠L̡̲͙̯̠͢͠L̷̡͇̤͓̯̮̝̥̥̘̯̠͉͙͓̘͙̕͢ͅͅ ̴̡͓̦̺͔͉̘͎̤̤̦̦̝̟̤͟͞ͅM̲̪̠̖͎̜͍͉͙͚̺͙͚̫̲̰͟͢͞͠A̶̸̪͉̼͖̞̮̞̞͠K̴̵͓̖͇͖͕̬̥̙̰̮̞̥̭̙̠͇͜͢͠E̴͍̺̫̫̰̜̙̗͈̕ ̜̳̜̩͓͔͚̟̳̕̕͢ͅŞ̛̝͈̻͙̙̥̲̙U̡̡̼̹̤͎R̕͟҉̡̭̪̣̝̬̰͇͚E̵̼̖̻̩̝͍̤͔̞̤͔͢͜͠͝ ̷̸͔̥̯̹̭Y̵̨̟͈̭͍̩̫͎̗̖̫̖̼͈̘͇͍̯̘̻͠͝O̸̡̯̟̦̘̟̞̲̳̱͎͡͝U̸̴̴͇͍͉̗̜̘͙ ͏̢̖͎͔͍̺̱̬̜̜̦̯̞̺ͅD̨̳̘͇̼̝̬͉̹̭̞͓̬̩̕͝͝I͏̛͈̜̜̫̥̹͎̰̣̮̩̖̹̻͔͉̣E͏̗͚̝̺͎̕͜͞ ̶̵͔̮͇̘̣̖̺W̢̞̳̱̻͖̮͍̪̯͎͔͜͡ͅI͕͓̬̮͙̫̕͢T̴̤̲̺̻͚͇̝̺͢͟͟Ḩ̠̬̞̭̣̘͎̠̮͕̦̰͕͢͡ ͢͢҉̝̦͔͖͔͈͇̙͡Y͏̜͉̪̣̯̫̤̥̞̻̗̭͙̹̲̮̳͘Ǫ̵̨̛̥̙̝̗͟U̵̵̬͚̞̖̯͖͇̪͈̺͟E҉̵͕̘̖͍̦̣͙̺̙̲̱̯̳̞͓͙̟̪̟͠͡Ḥ̢̨͓̳̗͔̞̱̮̜̪̫͙͝͡ͅ ̸̷̧̠͍̫̭͇̝̳̪̬̦͕̘̰̩̖͓̫͡J̸̛͇̟͖̟͟͞Ȩ̙̪̤̟͚̥̺̗̭̩̟̩̺͢ ̴̶̵͎̻̟͚͔̯̩͖͚͉͜V̴҉̰͎̪̟̼̫̺̺͇̣͞E̪͚̱̪̜͍͍͓̰̯̜̩̭̲̦͙̪̟̕͞U̶͕̣̲̬̩̱̹̜͠͞X͘͢҉̫̩̞̬̰̪̯͚̼̥̥͔̭̩͓͇͞ ͎͙̠̳͈̝̯̰̲̠͍̪͜͜͞T̴̨̛͇̱̣͉͓͉̲̼̦̙͈͍̭͡ͅĘ͔͎̠̙͕͔͔̱͍ ̷͜҉̻̱͈̲̙̯̣̹̟̲̹̤̝̜T̡͏̵͇͚̣̼̮Ư̧̡͏̷͔͕̻̠̤̘̼͍͓̣͓̟͇͍̲̝̪ͅE̵͖͚͈̪̯̱̖͖̟͇R̡̛̮͙̞̱͇͉̖̣̦̖̠̕͢͞ ͏̴̫̣̮̳͈̩̲͙̪̘̭̗ͅJ̶͉̻͕̺̮͟͠͡E̡͏̩̦̺̟̪̠͓͔͈͙̲͖͇̲̣̬̣̩ ̢͈̖͈̰͕͙̱͖̘̰̥͇̮̝̕͟͞V̧̧͎͉̜̫̙͉͘E҉̸͇̰̙̦U̩͎̬͚̖͓̺̝͚͢͞ͅX̴̧̡̭̳̳͚̣͢͝ ̷͇̻͎̩͔͕̤̱̤͓̜̺͓̮͇͕̕ͅT̸̨̰̠͎̪̤̜̙̟͉E͏͓̙͈͈̰͞͞ ҉̶̵̭̘̜̭͇̠̥̝̥̩̘̦̥͉̯͙̯͡͠ͅT͏̶̻̝̣̠͚̤͉̮̥̞̼̦̖̰̥ͅƯ̛̝̘̻̤͇͕͎̱̹͞Ę̡͎̻̹͙̬̠̰͇Ṛ̼̳̤͕̮̲̝͉͖͖͚͇̼̰͉̲͜ͅ ̸̞̞̼̲̦͎̤̪̺̭͇̪̺͎̳̖̰͟ͅ

 

The horror really sets in when he grabs a fist full of Jeonghans hair, yanking him out of his seat and hacking through it with his knife. Seungcheol stands there frozen because he has never _never_ seen something like this before. Jeonghan only grabs his head in fear that he might stick that knife in his brain, but lets that knife hack away at his silky hair because in the face of his parents Jeonghans never had much courage.

 

“Do you understand? You're nothing.” Mr Yoon reiterates and tosses the fistful of hair to the side, looking down at Jeonghan like he's vermin. Seungcheol sees so much red but simultaneously remains frozen, frightened to his core.

 

“We came here to formally disown you.” Mrs Yoon speaks up.

 

Jeonghan stays on the floor, head bent down like he can't be bothered to pick it up. Seungcheol feels his heartbeat quicken.

 

“Do escort us out, Choi.” Mr Yoon says, tossing the steak knife in Jeonghans lap.

 

Seungcheol mumbles somewhat of an affirmative, before numbly stepping out of the dining room. It isn't until the door shuts behind him once he's back inside that Seungcheol becomes minutely aware of his surroundings. He numbly heads back into the kitchen to find Jeonghan in the same spot.

H͠҉̢̗̰̺̟͔̫̘e̜͉̕l̖̪̘̣̦̭͍̮̙͢͝l͕͕̠̼͍͙̫͜ͅo͔͕̼?̦̗͠ ̧̡͎̣͚̝͙̬̺͡C̦͖̼̫͈͙ͅa̭̹͡͞n̨̤̭̘̲̺̞̗͘ ̜̫̰̦y̷͈̩̪̦͢ơ̡̞u̢̮̤͘ ͙͍͔̕h̛̪̮͉̙͙͍̙̺̫e͉̤͈͉͖̼͍͢a̖͓̣̗̪͖̬r̢̛̳͓̮ ̷̣̪͜͝m͙̙̹̦͟͠ͅe͏̪̙?̸̨̺͇ ̲͇̲͇̳͢I̵̡̦͚̯͎̦͓̙̤ ̶̧̱͔͎͔̞̲ļ̷̛̹̪o҉̼͙͉v̟̣̗̜͡e̵̤͇͓̟̙͎̕͜ ̵̟͚̰̯͉͍̪ͅy͙͓̞̲o҉͙̩̖̦̤u̸̷̩͚̜̺̜̺̫̻ͅ?̡̰̝̤̱̤͟

 

“Love?” He calls softly, kneeling down beside him.

 

Seungcheol gently grabs Jeonghans face, lifting it to look at him. Jeonghans eyes are glazed over, dead, how they used to look. He musters a smile for Seungcheol.

 

“I’d been meaning to cut it, anyway.” He tells him tearfully.

 

“Oh, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol mumbles, thumbing his cheeks gently.

 

“It doesn't look bad, does it?” Jeonghan asks, voice quivering as he keeps smiling. “Do you l-like it?”

 

Seungcheol presses his lips into a tight line, eyebrows knitting, he nods slowly because Jeonghans mind is swimming with a million other painful thoughts.

 

“Jeonghan…”

 

“It's fine, right?” Jeonghans voice cracks. “I'm fine.”

 

“Jeonghan-”

 

Jeonghan is shutting down and Seungcheol doesn’t know how to stop him.

**HELLO?**

 

Jeonghan straightens up hastily.

 

“I w-want to be alone for a bit.” He staggers out of the dining room.

 

Seungcheol stays on the floor, unsure of what to do besides going through motions. So that’s what he does. Collects the knife off the floor, the plates and glasses, setting them in the sink, picking up a broom and dustpan to sweep away long locks of pretty brown hair because he knows his husband would rather die than see them again. Seungcheol then goes into the bedroom, strips and showers, turning the water cold enough to make his teeth chatter. He comes out dripping wet, not too worried about clothes, they can be worn later, he’s more worried about that pull that is coming from the garden. Seungcheol is afraid to go, but he is more afraid to not go. He warily steps down the stairs, through the grand hallway with all their portraits that go from _happy_ to _trying to be happy_ , until he reaches two French sliding doors.

̺̍̈́̒̉̿̍Iͯ͂͏̮̼̜̯͔ ̱̫̩̠̰̊̅͜l̗̣̳̪͋͝o̞͈̮̼̖̘̹̎̕v̹̌͑ḝ̝͈͈̯ͦ͛ͦ͗ ̟̭͙̠y̞̖͙͍̲͛̀͊̉͛ọ̰͕͙̣͑͊u̦͊̑ͭ̊

Even from inside the house, the scent of various flowers wafts toward him. He peers outside, seeing a single light on in the gazebo, flower petals gently uplifting from their roots and lazily falling down through the wind. So quiet. On the swing in the gazebo, a figure sits with his head in his hands, completely still. Seungcheol finds himself unable to advance any further and goes into the guest room to put on some pants.

 

The night is spent in the library where the grand window looks out to the garden. Long rows of shelves line the wall all the way up to the skylight ceiling. Seungcheol sits in the high back recliner, with his back to the window, reading book after book in a pitiful attempt to keep busy. He is skimming _A Wild Sheep Chase_ by Haruki Murakami, thinking to himself that heterosexual men have a very bizarre train of thought, when there’s a gentle knock on the door in front of him.

 

“Come in.” Seungcheol hears himself say it.

 

The door clicks open.

 

“Love, it’s 8 am. Don’t you have to leave for the office soon?”

 

Seungcheol looks up from his desk and finds Jeonghan in the doorway, hair neatened into a short bob, hair dyed a stark black that matches Seungcheols own, eyes red, swollen to match Seungcheols own, a pink tinged nose, translucent taupe robes in place barely hiding his body, loosely around his shoulders, lazily fastened at his waist, pooling at his feet, trailing around him like a kings cape. Usually he is so grand, so sublime, but today he is so small. Seungcheol finds he can't stand to see him so unhappy.

 

“Let’s go to Japan.” He blurts.

 

Jeonghan blinks, eyeing the cover of the book in his husbands hands.

 

”Just me and you.” Seungcheol continues.

 

“Now?” He asks.

 

Seungcheol nods numbly. A few seconds of silence pass, the scent of old paper dances in the air.

 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, go pack some things.” Jeonghan then goes off, leaving the door ajar.

 

Seungcheol sits quietly, book in front of him forgotten. He pulls out his phone to arrange for a jet. They have a lovely semi off the grid modernist bungalow a train ride away from Tokyo and in the hills of a region called Hakone. It’ll be nice.

 

~

 

“What are we going to do? In Japan, I mean.” Jeonghan asks quietly once he’s settled into a seat next to Seungcheol.

 

“Hmm.” Seungcheol looks up from his phone. “What do you want to do there?”

 

Jeonghan turns to look at Seungcheol with brown eyes that are still so pretty even when bloodshot. He exhales shakily, thinking hard before he gives him a smile and shrugs.

 

The seatbelt sign turns on.

 

~

 

The penthouse by the outside of Tokyo closer to Hakone is how Seungcheol remembers it when they first bought it. With an entryway that leads to an open marble kitchen right next to a lounge with plush sofas, glass windows look out to a scenic view of a forest and mountains, the balcony holds a pool. Down the hallway is a single master bedroom.

 

Jeonghan lugs in a suitcase and makes a b-line for said room. Seungcheol shuts the door and heads into the lounge, flicking on the TV for white noise before becoming interested in what is playing.

 

A panel of people stands in a bright pink room, all chattering amongst themselves, next to a screen and a list of what Seungcheol assumes are names in Japanese. The camera pans to the screen where a brief video of three girls, dancing in sync on the rooftop of a skyscraper flashes. Then the panel starts on some kind of commentary. Laughter erupts as they zoom in on one of the girls crooked hat.

 

This must be some kind of entertainment slash drama slash variety show.

 

“What are you watching?” Jeonghan snakes his arms around Seungcheols waist and tucks his chin on his shoulder.

 

“Not sure.” Seungcheol answers.

 

Next the screen pans out to a map of the world before zooming into South Korea. Seungcheol rests his cheek against Jeonghans.

 

First they show a boy band with way too many members and then compare one of the members face to a camel.

 

 _The poor guy_ Seungcheol thinks

 

Next, they show Seungcheol and Jeonghan at the airport from just hours ago. How did they get those pictures so fast? The commentators “ooh” and “aah” and giggle. Two of them hold hands and one holds up his mic pack and imitates the picture of Seungcheol trying to shield both his and Jeonghan's faces with a neck pillow away from paparazzi.

 

Seungcheol turns the TV off.

 

“So.” He turns his head to gently kiss Jeonghans temple. “You wanna order pizza?”

 

Jeonghan chuckles slightly.

 

”Would they deliver all the way up here?” He asks.

 

“Lets find out.” Seungcheol answers.

 

And then after 45 minutes of broken Japanese on the phone and just sitting around waiting, the doorbell finally rings and Seungcheol has never seen Jeonghan move so fast.

 

“Good evening.” Jeonghan tries in his best Japanese.

 

The delivery girl just glances at him before doing a double take.

 

“Yoon Jeonghan?!” She asks in excitement.

 

“Yes?” Jeonghan nods unsurely.

 

She’s a fan. Huge fan, from what Seungcheol understands. She attended all of Jeonghans concerts on his Japanese tour while he was still promoting. Has his official lightstick, owns his albums and merchandise, all that jazz. They take a picture together, Jeonghan signs her phone case and Seungcheol gives her as much of a tip has he can find of Japanese cash in his wallet.

 

“How much do you think that was? Like 5000 won?” Seungcheol asks flipping through his wallet, frowning at the lack of paper money.

 

“No idea what the conversion is.” Jeonghan answers, opening the box of pizza with hungry eyes.  

 

Come to think of it, neither of them have had pizza in months. Seungcheol sits down at the kitchen counter as Jeonghan brings the box over.

 

The tightness that was in Seungcheols chest loosens a bit.

 

~

 

“You wanna bake brownies after this?” Jeonghan asks, picking up a second slice.

 

“You have a lot of stamina tonight.” Seungcheol comments through a bite.

 

“I wanna do as much as we can before we have to go back.” He says without hesitation.

 

Seungcheol takes a big bite and chews slowly, trying to bid time while he comes up with an answer.

 

“You know…” he starts quietly. “We don’t have to go back.”

 

The idea seems so nice.

 

Jeonghan takes a big bite of his slice, mirroring Seungcheol, chewing at a glacial pace, eyes darting in thought.

 

“What abou work?” He asks finally.

 

“Screw work.” Seungcheol says nonchalantly. “I’ll sell the company, maintain a small investment, and we can become sheepherders here.”

 

Jeonghan giggles at that. The tightness in Seungcheols chest loosens a little more.

 

They start on brownies after marathoning some episodes of Knowing Brothers, efficiently skipping the one Jeonghan appeared on in his idol days.

 

Seungcheol watches quietly as Jeonghan, hair pushed back with a headband reads a recipe off his phone in adorable concentration. Seungcheol dips his finger in the bowl of flour they sifted and gently swipes it on Jeonghans cheek.

 

Jeonghans delayed reaction as he looks up a full two seconds later makes Seungcheol cackle.

 

If Seungcheol takes 1 step, then Jeonghan takes 5. They are each other’s catalyst in this way.

 

A mischievous grin manifests on Jeonghans face as he grabs a fistful of flour and rubs it in Seungcheols hair.

 

“Hey!” Seungcheol yells half in surprise half because he thinks it’s hilarious.

 

He goes to fight back and suddenly they’re having a full scale flour fight. White dust rises in the kitchen and it becomes a bit manic. Seungcheol coughs but doesn’t back down. Jeonghan is laughing hysterically as he covers his nose and throws fistfuls at Seungcheol.

 

It feels like they’re in their early 20s again, reliving life the way it should be lived.

 

Seungcheol releases all the chains he keeps around his heart and laughs heartily, wrapping his arms around Jeonghan. Jeonghan throws his head back, carefree. Laughing and laughing. Seungcheol loves to see Jeonghan laugh.

 

Jeonghans eyebrows knit as he laughs and laughs, his voice breaking slowly at first and then more frequently as the corners of his mouth drop down. He starts sobbing, covering his face with his hands and muffling that painful wailing as best as he can.

  


~~~~

  


Seungcheol sleeps through most of the night for the first time, in Jeonghans arms at that but then wakes up to a cold bed and light coming from the hallway. The sound of scissors fills the air.

Snip snip snip.

 

“Jeonghan?”

 

“I need to cut it all off.”

 

“Jeonghan!”

 

“I need to get rid of all of it. That mans disgusting hands are crawling all over my hair. I need to cut it all off.”

 

“Be careful with those. Please.”

 

“If I see them again, I’ll shoot them dead.”

 

“Jeonghan, please be careful.”

 

“I’ll shoot them dead and then shoot myself.”

 

“J-“

 

Jeonghan whips the scissors down on to the pretty marble flooring and looks at Seungcheol.

 

“We’re both ruined, Seungcheol. Neither of us know how to love each other. No matter how hard we try.” He barks, distraught over the unfairness of it all.

 

Seungcheol collects the scissors off the floor and takes a lock of his own hair between them, slicing it clean off.

 

“I don’t want to go back, Jeonghan.” He tells his husband. “I want to stay-“

 

“-Here with you.” Jeonghan finishes with him.

  


~~~~~

 

“We should have divorced the second we started doing this shit.”

 

When long panels of glass reflect the orange hum of the setting sun over green foliage, Seungcheol wonders if he's stuck in some kind of painful loop or if this is just a bad dream. His husband of 8 years is in his arms, straddling him but without any erotic intent, safe and serene, where he should be. With his feet propped up and a shadow on his jaw that says Seungcheol hasn't gone to work in days, hasn't stepped outside to feel the sunlight on his skin in days, he doesn't know if it's good or bad because things stopped making sense so long ago and he's shut down inside himself.

 

“I can't even remember how long we’ve being doing this shit.” Jeonghan says with a pitiful laugh. Immediately tears brim in his eyes as he shuffles to look up at Seungcheol. “It's been too long.”

 

Seungcheol remains silent, thumbing absently at his almost bruising dark circles. Usually, Seungcheol is the one who cannot sleep no matter what, but lately, they've been staying up together.

 

“I’m so sad, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan's watery smile remains as he absently scratches his collarbone, probably irritated by the large hickey Doyoon left there.“I'm so lonely all the time.”

 

“You're killing me, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol gulps, anxiety bubbling in his stomach next to a gnawing hunger that seems to be eating him from the inside out. Only Jeonghan can make him feel like that. “I’m so fucking sad too.”

 

Jeonghan sniffs and looks down.

 

“We just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worse.”We just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worse.We just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worseWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel wWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only mWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but theWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel betterWe just keep doing things that we think will maWe just keep doing things that weWe just keep doing thWe just keep We juWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worseWe just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worse. We just keep doing things that we think will make us feel better but they only make us feel worse.

 

Seungcheol clears his throat, pushing his tears away.

 

“I don't know...why are you sad? You never tell me.”

 

There's a wall separating them these days. Seungcheols voice is so shuddery when he asks, he knows the answer and he doesn't want to hear Jeonghan say it but he asks all the same. There's doubt that he can't seem to let go holding him back, strangling him.

 

“You love me, right Seungcheol?” Jeonghan's voice cracks as he sits up with a smile, tears pooling over his pupils making them shine like diamonds, but they don't dare to spill down his face, just like always.

 

“I've always loved you, Jeonghan.”

 

Jeonghan let's out a choked sob and closes his eyes, tears finally wetting his skin. Seungcheol, on instinct wipes his face and pushes his hair out of his eyes, squashing that anxiety in his stomach into nothingness because he doesn't know what else to do. Because Jeonghan is so _sad_ and Seungcheol can't stand seeing him like that anymore.

 

“It makes me sad when you say it.”

 

Seungcheol cascades his hands through Jeonghan's short hair, jagged edges ripping through his calloused palms. It feels good.

 

“I try to drink it away.” Jeonghan gasps as Seungcheol leans forward to press his lips to the corner of Jeonghans mouth. “I try to sleep it away, I try to fuck it away, I t-try-”

 

Jeonghan's crying into his mouth and Seungcheol can and has swallowed up anything Jeonghan's ever thrown at him and he always will. Because Seungcheol is so sad these days and the only thing that makes him remotely happy, brings back some kind of semblance of slumber and relief to him, is Jeonghan.

Jeonghan hiccups and turns to gaze out the window, shoulders shaking.

Seungcheol has been running around in circles for the past 7 years, making himself dizzy trying to get away from it. He's ran all the way to other countries, thinking it would help his head feel clearer, thinking it would make him feel better. But nothing.

 

“We force each other to see the things we hate about ourselves”

 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan are so sad these days.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

~

 

Seungcheol sits down at his desk at 9 AM and finds a file he was expecting and a file he was not expecting. One is a letter of resignation. The other is a petition for a divorce.

 

He signs both.

 


End file.
